


Winter's Chains, Winter's Heart

by Rosawyn



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Advice, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angst, Artist Steve Rogers, Awesome Pepper Potts, Blood and Injury, Bucky Angst, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Character of Faith, Cuddling & Snuggling, Diplomacy, Dom/sub Undertones, Drunk Tony, Dubious Consent, Everyone Has Issues, F/M, First Time, Frottage, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, IN SPACE!, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Kissing, Kneeling, Light BDSM, M/M, Memory Loss, Misunderstandings, Multi, Nightmares, Oblivious Steve, Oral Sex, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Steve, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve, Protective Tony, Sharing a Bed, Space Pirates, Space Stations, Spaceships, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Flirts, i guess?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-01-27 15:57:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 96,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1716305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosawyn/pseuds/Rosawyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony would never consider buying a slave...until Steve sees a friend he thought long dead up for sale.  Tony is just here to buy raw materials—and maybe some alcohol—but he can't deny Steve.  And besides, that arm is some pretty fascinating tech...  He really doesn't know what he's getting himself into.</p><p>'It made Tony's teeth hurt. It was kind of adorable. It was just a little disturbing.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Thousand Times Over

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has a [playlist](http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLfuAfaNaSuAhU_ceNgHgzpZavbsbJU4pr), if you're interested. This is my first time making/sharing a playlist for a fic - please let me know if you can't see it or it doesn't work or whatever.
> 
> Beta'd by the ever-wonderful, [EstherA2J](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EstherA2J), the best friend and best sister ever.

The smell in the market was oppressive. Someone needed to do some basic maintenance on the air filtration system if they weren't going to bother upgrading to something from this century. It was times like this when Tony thought it would be much nicer to just stay on the Stark 1 indefinitely, maybe with a few short stopovers at Avenger Tower. But sadly while he had managed energy self-sufficiency—because he was brilliant and awesome, thank you very much—he wasn't quite there yet with, well, anything else. They still needed food, for one. And raw materials, though these grubby little ports on these grubby little planets never seemed to want to sell them _raw_.

Still, sometimes it _was_ easier to re-work existing parts than to fashion what he needed from freshly-mined ore. Sometimes. And Pepper kept telling him it was better for...something. Less wasteful, maybe? Using metal that had already been extracted and processed. Though how planets and asteroids could mind being drilled for their shiny little centres, Tony never understood. But still, if nothing else, it was easier to go shopping from time to time at these glorified junkyards than listen to yet another of Pepper's reservedly irritated, painstakingly researched, wholly grammatically correct speeches.

Also, these markets usually sold alcohol. So that was a plus.

Unfortunately, this one also sold slaves. Not exactly surprising this far out, and with the current utter collapse of anything that had resembled order in the wake of the Second SHIELD-HYDRA War, it was inevitable that slavery would spread across the entire galaxy—unless some other ostensibly moral government stepped in to fill that power vacuum, and right now there didn't seem to be a long line of hopefuls. Most people with the means to seize such an opportunity were probably far too wisely wary of the scattered fragments of both HYDRA and SHIELD to poke around in the remnants of their territory for the time being. And it really had been ' _their_ territory,' considering the way HYDRA had infiltrated SHIELD to its highest possible levels. Not for the first time since that war had exploded across the greater part of the galaxy, Tony was infinitely grateful for his own deep-seated trust issues and the long list of reasons SHIELD hadn't wanted him anyway. No, it was much, much better to be free and unattached when huge military governments started devouring each other from the inside out.

Gods—or just the one God in this case, he supposed—but speaking of wars, there was his own personal pet fossil: the walking, talking, living, breathing legend from the _First_ SHIELD-HYDRA War, the man out of time, Captain Steve Rogers. Woken from his decades-long cryo like Sleeping Beauty minus the kiss or the prince, but just as much a figure from a bedtime story, or at least the stories Tony's father had bothered to tell, whatever time of day it might actually have been—Tony had of course always assumed his father was at the very least _exaggerating_ when he said he'd known Captain Rogers. Had Howard still been alive, perhaps Tony would have owed the man a bit of an apology, because Rogers corroborated every damn one of those stories.

And if the general atmosphere of Port Whatever-the-hell was bothering Tony, someone who had more than thirty years experience with places just as bad and many worse, it was making his companion downright _mopey_. Tony's first thought would be to have a few drinks with the man to help him relax, but the stuff that made sickly boys into supersoldiers seventy years ago apparently also left them entirely impervious to even the best effects of alcohol. Which was inconvenient, because seeing Captain Rogers _mopey_ was just downright disconcerting.

Maybe part of it was that he missed his shield, but flashing that thing around in the current political climate was akin to painting a target on one's back. In fact, that was very nearly _literally_ the exact same thing. And as much as Steve would have been willing to just hole himself up in his cabin aboard the Stark 1 for the rest of, well, eternity, Tony was sure that wasn't good for him. Pretty sure. He really should ask Bruce. Or ask Bruce to talk to Steve. Bugger that whole 'I'm not that kind of doctor' bit. He was the only doctor they _had_ right now, so he'd have to do. It wouldn't hurt for the man to show a bit more gratitude for the free room and board Tony allowed him. And the paycheck.

Of course it didn't help that slavery symbolized everything Steve had ever fought against.

And that obnoxious merchant was shouting out prices and vaguely-worded qualifications—“Healthy! Strong! Well-trained! Ideal!”—while gesturing grandly towards the people in the cages.

But— _what the hell?_ —were Tony's eyes playing tricks, or did that one slave really have a mechanical arm?

o0o

The slave known as Winter leaned back against the bars of his cage, legs stretched out across the scuffed metal floor and arms folded across his broad, bare chest, watching the dull mill of the market with half-closed eyes. He was supposed to be standing, flexing, showing off his attributes for potentially interested buyers, but he couldn't make himself care. This merchant wasn't his Master. His Master would never have sold him. His Master was _dead_. Winter had little reason to obey anyone, since the merchant would have to feed him anyway if he wanted his merchandise to keep its value, if he ever hoped to find someone willing to buy an _assassin_ slave. The food was basically crap of course, nowhere near enough protein to keep up an impressive-looking physique, but it was still food—it filled the emptiness in his belly, and that was enough.

Winter was a little too specialized for this market, which is why the other slaves—the untrained children, the labourers, the cooks, the cleaners, the mechanics, the pleasure slaves, even that one _wet-nurse_ —all sold while he languished here day after day. If the merchant was smart, he would take Winter to a larger market at a more important port; there were still some among the galaxy's rich and powerful who could see the value in a highly-trained assassin, surely. But the merchant wasn't smart.

And he hadn't exactly asked Winter's advice. Likely wasn't the sort to ask a slave's advice about anything.

Slaves came and went, customers came and went, but nothing ever happened that was worth Winter's attention. Most of the customers ignored the slave section of the market entirely, either because they could never afford the price of another sentient life, or because of some distaste for the institution of slavery—the 'ignore it and maybe it'll go away' approach seemed to be working _remarkably_ well for that second set, because if SHIELD was as dead and gone as the constant buzz of gossip insisted, it seemed slavery in this galaxy wouldn't be going anywhere for a _very_ long time.

Rolling his shoulders, Winter shoved his flesh hand through his hair to push it out of his face.

“Bucky?” The voice stood out somehow over the general din of the market, cutting through the haze like a momentary flash from a beacon, from one of those lighthouses they'd used back when humanity sailed upon the seas rather than the stars.

Winter's eyes flicked up, focusing instantly and involuntarily on the speaker. He was tall, muscularly— _dangerously_ —built with short blond hair, and he was grabbing the bars of the cage, peering intently at Winter with a mix of confusion, hope, and horror on his cleanly-shaved face.

“Bucky!” The man said it like a name, but who the hell was 'Bucky'? And perhaps more importantly, who the hell was this man saying it? He seemed...familiar, somehow. But Winter couldn't...couldn't remember why.

It really took the merchant far too long to notice a potential customer taking an interest in his merchandise, but that wasn't exactly surprising. Still, he finally did approach Winter's cage with an obsequious smile for the blond man. “Ah yes, sir, you have a good eye for _quality_.” The merchant's voice was old oil slicked across the surface of water so dirty it toyed with being mud. “Such a fine and, yes, _rare_ specimen. Surely worth the price, yes?”

“What?” The look on the blond man's face as he tore his eyes away from Winter momentarily was far too confused, far too helpless. Inept as the merchant might be, he could easily best this customer if he was going to start the negotiations like _that_. Though...he really didn't seem the type to want an assassin slave—maybe he'd misread the sign...or not read it at all. He didn't seem quite 'all there,' and Winter wondered briefly who had let him wander around unattended in public.

Only wondered briefly, because another man, this one with dark hair and an air of self-assured confidence, appeared at the blond man's side and smoothly took over talking to the merchant. So Captain Strangely-Familiar turned his entire attention back to Winter. “It's me, Steve, remember?”

Well, Winter did remember...something. He just wished he could figure out what. But this crazy guy—Steve—and his companion looked like they just might be wealthy enough—and kind enough, if he was good, if he could remember to be good—to feed him well. To give him a better place to sleep than the cold metal floor of this cage. It was a gamble, but it seemed likely it was in Winter's best interests to be bought today. And it had been a long time since Winter had truly _wanted_ anything, but he wanted to know who this 'Steve' was and why he seemed so familiar. He nodded his head once. “Yeah, Steve.” He swallowed against the sudden shakiness in his chest. “I think I do.”

o0o

Steve felt tears in his eyes, but he didn't care, couldn't make himself care enough to try to brush them away or try to hide them. Bucky was _alive_! He was in a cage and he had a metal arm and his hair was too damn long, but he was alive. And he only said he _thought_ he remembered Steve, so maybe there was something off there, but...it was going to be okay now.

It was all going to be okay, because Tony was...Tony was going to get Bucky out of the cage, and they'd all go back to the ship together.

Steve couldn't condone the exchange of money for a person, but when that person was Bucky, he couldn't condemn it either. He'd do anything in his power to help Bucky, and right then he was gladder than he ever had been that Tony was insanely wealthy and willing to use his wealth to give his friends anything money could buy. Even if that was a human being.

Tony didn't have any slaves, of course, disagreed with the institution on principle much like his father had. And yet he was buying Bucky. Steve would have to find some way to thank him later.

Steve really didn't want to hear Tony bickering over the price, but he tried to make himself listen to the parts of the conversation about Bucky's health.

“Oh yes, sir,” the merchant said, wringing his hands in front of his chest and grinning. “He's very healthy, well-fed too. No recent illnesses—fully checked out by a qualified medical professional—all his immunizations current and on record.”

If the man started talking about Bucky's teeth, Steve might just have to punch him.

“Oh, I'm sure.” Tony sounded bored as he poked distractedly at his Stark Phone. “What have you been feeding him anyway?” He looked up, eyes running over Bucky's exposed chest, assessing. “Some sort of grain-based carbohydrate mush with a few vitamin supplements mixed in? We'll need at least a week if not a month or more of feeding him decent food before he's fit for anything worthwhile. And I will, of course, have my own physician take a look at him.” He gave the merchant a smile so sharp it reminded Steve of a bayonet. “Just in case yours happened to miss anything.”

“Oh, of course, of course, sir!” The merchant waved his hands before him in the air. “But I assure you...”

“Oh, don't get your panties in a bunch.” Tony tapped the edge of his phone against his lips. “I'm going to buy him.” He gestured towards Bucky with his phone while raising one eyebrow at the merchant. “Because my good friend has his heart set on him, as you have no doubt noticed. And I'll even pay a bit more than I know he's worth because I myself like that metal arm he's got.”

Bucky flexed the metal arm at that, apparently pleased with Tony's interest. A crooked smile twisted his features into something disconcertingly similar to his old, familiar cockiness. Steve tried very hard not to think about how Bucky might have lost his real arm, how it must have hurt, how an injury like that could have been fatal, how the prosthetic itself might still be painful.

“He got any trackers anywhere?” Tony asked. “HYDRA or SHIELD or...anything?”

The merchant shook his head quickly. “No, nothing like that at all. Very safe, this one. Belonged to a private citizen with no ties to either side of the war.”

Bucky snorted a laugh, and everyone turned to look at him, but he just waved them off with his metal hand, _please do go on_. It was a familiar gesture, one Steve had seen Bucky make many times before, but never with a metal hand.

“Uh-huh.” Tony didn't seem convinced. “I'm sure an honest merchant like yourself would be extra careful to make sure of such things. In the interest of your customer's safety.” Yeah, definitely not convinced. Steve had known Tony long enough now to appreciate how Tony could say one thing and mean the exact opposite.

There were more details about the legal ownership of a person that Steve couldn't help letting slide past him like tall grass in a field. He just needed Bucky out of that cage. He swallowed down his disgust when he was handed a tablet to scan his fingerprint, declaring to whatever passed for law and government in this sector that he was now the legal owner of the trained assassin slave; designation: 'Winter.'

The merchant held out some garishly coloured pamphlets, babbling something about, “retraining protocols” and “binding his loyalty,” but Steve just stared blankly at them until Tony took the leaflets and tucked them into his breast pocket.

Placing a comforting hand on Steve's shoulder, Tony leaned in and said, his voice low, “Let's get both of you the hell out of here.”

o0o

So it seemed Steve was Winter's new owner. All official, documented, recorded, and now the merchant was unlocking the cage with shaking hands. Winter pulled himself up slowly to his feet.

“You have made me some money today, Winter.” The merchant grinned, showing off brown and yellow teeth. “But I'd rather not see you again, so try to make this new owner happy, yes?” The merchant was blocking the door to the cage, shifting his weight slightly from one foot to the other, leering at him. “I suppose it's not your speciality, but...” He licked his lips, eyes raking over Winter.

No, making people happy had never been Winter's specialty. But maybe if he decided he liked Steve, he'd try to keep him alive. Maybe he could do a better job with that than he had with his old Master. He should try to keep Steve alive long enough to solve the puzzle, anyway. And Steve did seem like the sort who would likely have _someone somewhere_ trying to kill him. Security might not be the reason he wanted Winter, but it was something Winter actually knew how to do.

It wasn't that he didn't know how to do sex—because that's what the merchant was implying, that Steve wanted him for sex. He understood the basics, anyway. And Steve was by no means an unattractive man, so there was that. But his skills were just far greater in other areas.

When the merchant finally moved out of the way, Winter stepped down from the cage onto the dirty market floor and into Steve's waiting arms. That wasn't exactly a surprise, so Winter tried not to flinch or otherwise react negatively. Instead, he carefully raised his own arms to return the embrace as Steve murmured softly near his ear, his voice choked with emotion, “It's so good to see you again, Buck.”

He was probably supposed to say something back. Something like, 'It's good to see you, too, Steve.' But all he could think of was the warm scent of Steve as it filled his nostrils with shattered fragments of fragrant wheat fields and vibrant sunsets, distracted card games and easy laughter. He couldn't stop himself from jerking back then to stare into Steve's enigma of a face.

Before either had a chance to say anything else, the dark haired man cleared his throat quite deliberately. “This is all giving me cavities and diabetes and the whole bit, but do you think we could get back to the ship before...with the...” He made small figure eights in their direction with his phone.

“Yeah.” Pulling back but keeping one hand on Winter's flesh arm, Steve gave it a gentle squeeze, nodding to his companion. “Let's go.”

o0o

Of course Bucky didn't actually have anything, no bag of personal belongs, just the black pants and buckled boots he was wearing—property couldn't own property, so even that likely belonged to the merchant, or had before Tony had purchased the clothing along with the slave wearing it. But they could fix that, easily enough. Steve wasn't about to actually treat his best friend like a slave. Like people usually treated slaves.

They were walking past some clothing stalls, and Steve paused, his hand still on Bucky's arm. “Wait,” he said, and Tony stopped and turned to look at him. “We should—” Turning to Bucky, Steve asked, “Do you want to buy some clothes here? A shirt at least?”

Bucky gave him a blank look. Finally, he said, “If you want.”

Well, yeah, Steve _wanted_. He didn't want his friend to be cold or uncomfortable or... “This is about what _you_ want, Buck.”

o0o

All Winter wanted was to figure out what the deal with Steve was, but apparently he had to have opinions about other things now. Like what clothes he wore. But his pants and boots were both black, so... “A black one?”

Steve smiled and bought him a black shirt. It fit well enough—that was apparently very important to Steve. Though it would just be easier if Steve picked out the clothes he wanted his slave to wear—didn't he know how these things worked? No matter what kind of slave, it was always the Master who chose the clothes. That was one of the perks of owning another person.

“Yeah-haa, looking good,” the dark-haired man said, glancing up from his phone, pointing at Winter and winking.

“Oh, gosh, sorry,” Steve said suddenly, ducking his head. “Bucky, this is my friend Tony Stark.” Keeping one hand on Winter's arm, he gestured between them. “I'm sorry I forgot to introduce you. Tony, this is Bucky Barnes. We grew up together on New Brooklyn.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, slipping his phone into his pocket. “I sorta gathered that. The, uh, the 'Bucky' part, anyway. And New Brooklyn? I did a report on that once when I was a kid—main exports include wheat and supersoldiers.”

Winter didn't remember growing up _anywhere_ , but clearly he was meant to be this 'Bucky,' so he just nodded once and hoped no one asked him about it. One possibility, of course, was that he just looked enough like Steve's childhood friend that he'd confused the poor guy. But since Steve did seem so strangely familiar, the other possibility was at least as likely: he actually _was_ this 'Bucky'...or had been, anyway. He wondered idly if New Brooklyn ever exported assassin slaves.

At Tony's suggestion, they bought two more black shirts of slightly varying styles. Once that was done, Tony made them stop at a small booth to buy some roasted meat—which Tony called 'don't ask'—on skewers. Winter didn't ask, but it was the first meat he'd eaten in weeks so it tasted amazing. He would have readily eaten a second helping, but it was usually best for a slave not to appear greedy. Tony had said they planned to feed him well, and unless that had just been part of the haggling process there would be more food later, once they got to Tony's ship.

o0o

As they walked the rest of the way to the airlock where Stark 1 was docked—and gods if he wasn't going to be relieved to go back to breathing air that didn't smell like a cross between a pile of dead dogs in the sun and an intentionally foul mixture of stale fossils fuels—Tony allowed himself to marvel at the sheer wonder that he now had not just one but two living, breathing relics of the First SHIELD-HYDRA War tagging in his wake. Assuming the metal-armed assassin was truly Bucky, Captain Rogers' closest and oldest friend—and wouldn't that mess with the history everyone thought they knew once word got out? Bucky Barnes would no longer be the only Howler to give his life in the service, just the only one to give an arm. Though, they'd had to re-write the files once already right before the Chitauri War when Rogers himself was discovered to be alive. Which had been convenient for everyone who wasn't Chitauri as his tactical genius led SHIELD troops to a swift and decisive victory.

But what if Winter turned out to be a clone, a relative, or someone who had been surgically altered to look like Barnes? Banner could no doubt rule those last two out with a simple DNA test, but a clone would be, well, rather harder to disprove. Not that it would matter to Rogers...

Tony glanced over his shoulder at how Steve was still holding his new slave's arm as if afraid he'd dissolve into a holoprojection if he stopped touching him for a moment, all the while radiating a downright angelic halo of hope and happiness. It made Tony's teeth hurt. It was kind of adorable. It was just a little disturbing.

But no, Steve was absolutely sure this was Bucky. There would be no convincing him otherwise. None whatsoever.

And it would break his heart a thousand times over to try. Tony couldn't think of a reason it might be worth it, and he found himself desperately hoping the first slave he'd ever bought was in fact Bucky Barnes. Or at the very least was someone who wouldn't mind pretending to be for the rest of Steve's very long life.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This thing is HUGE, and I have no idea how to tag it, so please bear with me. A bit of explanation of my current system... If a paring or character appears "on screen" or is reasonably important to the plot, it gets tagged. If that annoys any of you, don't hesitate to leave some feedback. :)
> 
> In case you were wondering, the slave merchant is an OC.
> 
> Notes on parings:  
> This is, primarily, a Bucky/Steve fic; the paring is the primary focus, even before things like "plot." Happy/Pepper is a background paring, but it's there, so you've been warned or whatever. There is also some one-sided Tony/Steve (and Tony/everyone really), but the Tony/Steve thing doesn't show up until Chapter 4/5, and like I said it's entirely one-sided, but there's your fair warning on that. There will also be some minor Charles/Erik in (much) later chapters.


	2. Unreliable Instincts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a tracker, an apple, and a glass of Scotch.

The Stark 1, it turned out, was anything but 'stark.' Tony seemed the sort to appreciate the irony of the name almost as much as the pleasure of naming an ostentatiously luxurious ship after himself. Winter's lips quirked upwards slightly on one side—he appreciated the irony himself. And the ostentatious luxury.

“Oh... _gods_!” Tony took several deep, exaggerated breaths. “ _Real_ air! I'm never going to leave my ship again!”

The air aboard the Stark 1 was quite obviously cleaner than the air in the port. Sophisticated filtration systems were common on high-end craft, but this one seemed better than most. Though, part of that might just be the blatantly obvious contrast with the air Winter had been breathing for longer than he'd bothered to keep track.

Tony stroked one hand down the smooth metal of a bulkhead. “I missed you, sweet girl. You're such a nice ship.”

After a brief pause, a crisp masculine voice replied, “Thank you, sir.”

Tony shook his head, chuckling. “I wasn't talking to you, J.”

“The Stark 1 is incapable of speech, sir,” the voice retorted, “and is in fact incapable of hearing or understanding speech.”

“Yeah, whatever, JARVIS.” Tony patted the bulkhead again, pitching his voice low as he said, “Don't listen to the jealous computer, darling.”

“I see we have a new guest,” the computer said, ignoring Tony's comments.

“Yes.” Standing up straight, Tony gestured to Winter. “This is Bucky Barnes, a good friend of Steve's. Do try to make him feel welcome.”

“I shall try my best, sir,” the computer replied. “Welcome aboard the Stark 1, Mister Barnes. If you require my assistance, please do not hesitate to ask.”

“Uh...thanks.” It was the first time Winter had encountered an AI with so much personality. The first time he remembered, anyway.

Steve's grip on Winter's arm tightened for a moment. “JARVIS takes a bit of getting used to,” he said softly.

Winter nodded. JARVIS wasn't the only thing that was going to take some getting used to.

o0o

Tony left Steve to show his friend around and get him settled in his cabin while he went to his own cabin to call Pepper. He was a firm believer in asking forgiveness rather than permission, but it was still best to be the one to tell Pepper how exactly he'd spent his money before she had time to find out elsewhere.

“JARVIS, put in a call to Pepper, holo if that's an option.” He flopped in his desk chair and shoved both his hands through his hair. Maybe if he looked suitably frazzled she'd take pity on him. Though, that never seemed to work as well now that they were so well and truly broken up that she was formally committed to someone else. Not that Tony was upset about that; in fact, he'd been honoured—and honestly a little choked up—when his longtime friend and bodyguard had asked him to take part in the commitment ceremony. It still seemed a bit strange that he had 'given the groom away' when he was pretty sure he still saw Happy more than Pepper did, but the ceremony had been beautiful. He'd actually been a little worried he might end up giving both the bride and the groom away, but Pepper's aunt Patricia had showed up from gods only knew where to give the bride away, which was inarguably a better option than giving his ex away, even if he was her employer.

And...Happy made her, well, happy. Happier than Tony ever had, all without having to put in half as much effort. Tony had never exactly been ideally suited to monogamy anyway. Still, Tony sometimes missed Pepper's old crush on him for the times it had made conversations like this just a little easier.

“Tony.” Pepper's face flickered into being above Tony's desk. “What can I do for you?”

“Pepper.” He tried for a charming grin. “Happy sends his love.”

“I'm sure he does. He sent it personally just this morning.” Tiny flickers of a smirk played around the corners of her mouth as she fixed him with a pointed look. “I assume there's a reason for this call? I do have a company to run.”

“Yes, of course, and you do a much better job of it than I ever did.” The compliment had the benefit of being entirely true. He didn't expect her to try to deny it, but she didn't even say thank you. Tony told himself that didn't sting at all and continued, “Look, Pepper, before you freak out, I'd ask that you hear me out here.”

Sighing, she pressed the fingers of both hands to her forehead. “Tony, what did you do this time?”

He took a breath and tried not to fidget too much. “I want to make it very clear that no matter how bad any of this sounds, I was motivated by helping a friend. And also...” It couldn't hurt to point this out: “ _Captain Steve Rogers_ would tell you I did the right thing, so that has to count for something.”

o0o

“This will be your room,” Steve said, opening the door of a surprisingly spacious, comfortably furnished cabin. He showed Winter the bathroom and kitchenette. “If you need anything...or want anything, let me, Tony, or JARVIS know.”

Right, because what Winter wanted was so important to Steve. All Winter really _wanted_ was to solve the puzzle standing right in front of him, and he'd have a better chance at doing that the more time he actually spent in Steve's presence. He'd also have a better chance of actually protecting him if he could be near him. Besides, how the hell could Steve ever hope to bind Winter's loyalty if he let some computer AI take care of him? Every moment he spent with Steve gave Winter the stronger impression that the man was helpless when it came to owning a slave. He took a breath and took a gamble. “I want to stay with you.” Steve looked at him with surprise mixed with confusion, so Winter amended, “In your room.”

Steve smiled a little awkwardly and nodded, straightening his shoulders. “Sure thing, Buck. Like in the army or when we were kids, right?”

“Yeah.” Apparently Bucky had been in the army with Steve as well. That actually seemed to fit somewhat, given Winter's skill-set. He just wished he could remember anything at all about it. “Like that.”

Steve's cabin was almost exactly like the one that would have been Winter's, just a bit more lived-in. But not much more. Of course, Winter really had no idea how long Steve had lived in it or if he had a more permanent home, but the impression was still one of spartan utility, perhaps made even stronger by the opulent nature of the ship itself.

“There's only the one bed...” Steve began.

But Winter interrupted him, “I can sleep on the floor.” The floor was clean and carpeted, so it would be far more comfortable than the floor of the cage—but gods, a good slave really shouldn't interrupt. Winter had only ever been good at following orders, though, and Steve wasn't giving him any. He ducked his head. “Sorry.” He hoped Steve didn't expect to be called 'Master' yet.

“No, hey, the floor's not bad.” Now that they were inside Steve's cabin with the door closed behind them, he'd finally let go of Winter's arm. “I find the bed's too soft sometimes—but Bucky, you're welcome on the bed too.” He smiled reassuringly. “And if you'd rather have it to yourself, just let me know, because as I said, I don't mind the floor.”

Winter stared at him, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes slightly. As if he'd ever tell his owner to sleep on the floor. He shook his head. Maybe...maybe honesty would be useful here. “I want...” He swallowed and let his eyes go wide and damp as he met Steve's gaze. “I just want to be near you.”

o0o

“So, you're not angry with me?” Tony swivelled back and forth slightly in his chair, studying Pepper's holographic expression.

She shook her head, smiling a little. “I'm not. How could I be angry?”

He shrugged. Usually, Pepper found a way.

She shook her head again. “Well anyway, I'm _not_ , so relax. Will you be heading back to the Tower now?”

“That was the plan.” Tony nodded. “Well, the new plan, but...you know. Need to get Banner to take a good long look at Barnes. I'll check him over for trackers and such myself here, but we'll need the real lab to do it properly. And to make sure he's...well, as healthy as a man with a mechanical arm who's been living off of wallpaper paste in a freaking metal cage for however-the-hell long _can_ be.” He'd already told Pepper what he was pretty sure the merchant had actually been feeding Barnes, and wallpaper paste didn't exactly exist in this century...or the last one. He was pretty sure it was still a mostly fair comparison.

“Understood.” She nodded, warmly professional. “I'll let Doctor Banner know to expect you.”

Tony nodded distractedly then looked up, catching her gaze before she could end the call. “And Pepper?”

“Yes, Tony?”

“Tell him I'll need a thorough DNA profile on this Barnes guy—the one I've got and the one from history.” This wasn't being paranoid, this was being smart—Tony at least should be aware of what he was dealing with. And Steve would understand the need for blood tests. “Best he's prepared for that.”

“Of course.”

o0o

“Bucky...” Steve's voice was choked as he pulled Winter into another hug, this one even tighter than the first. “I'm not going to lose you again, you hear? I won't let anyone take you away from me.”

Returning the embrace, Winter smirked to himself over Steve's shoulder. This possessive Steve was something he could handle, something he could work with. He let himself tremble slightly and tightened his grip, careful not to grasp too tightly, especially with the metal arm.

“Steve...” Winter pulled back and Steve let him. “There's something you should know.” He let his eyes slide away from Steve's face towards where the aquamarine carpet met the contoured metal wall. “The merchant lied; I do have a tracker—one that I know of anyway. It's—I don't know if it's still functional or if it could be reactivated, but...” They'd want to remove it just in case. And he wasn't about to _help_ whatever remained of HYDRA find him, at least not before he figured this Steve thing out. His loyalty had never been to the organization, anyway; it had been to his Master. That's how this whole slave thing worked.

“Oh.” Steve didn't sound angry, just...worried, and his eyes on Winter were filled with concern. Somehow, Winter had still expected some level of anger at the admission. “Yeah, Tony will have to help you with that. He's a bit of a mechanical genius...or so he says, anyway.” Steve laughed softly. “He knows more than I do is all I know, really.”

Winter tried for a tentative smile. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Hey...” Steve gave Winter's flesh shoulder a squeeze. “How about you take a shower, and I'll talk to Tony about that tracker thing.”

A shower sounded...really nice. A luxury. Maybe it was a reward for his honesty. Maybe Steve just wanted him clean. Maybe it didn't really matter.

Steve showed him how to operate the clothes cleaner in the bathroom, telling him his things would be done in ten minutes, so he may as well spend that long in the shower—he could even shower for longer if he wished—and reminded him of the other two shirts he could choose from if he wanted. Because with Steve, it was always about what Winter wanted.

o0o

Steve was sitting at his desk, having just ended the call to Tony when Bucky reemerged from the bathroom, dressed in the same clothing he'd worn before—though clean now—and towelling his hair. His eyes still held that lost look that tugged roughly at something deep in Steve's chest, made him want to protect Bucky from everyone and everything that could ever hurt him again. Steve smiled softly at his friend. “Feel better?”

“Yeah.” Bucky nodded, gaze low as he folded the towel and hung it up. “Much better; thank you.” He rubbed a hand across the rough stubble on his chin.

“I forgot to say earlier, but you can shave too if you want. I have a razor you can use.” It wasn't technically called a 'razor,' but sometimes it was hard for Steve to remember the new names for everything. And it still removed facial hair, so in his mind it _was_ a razor.

Bucky stared at him then nodded.

“You don't have to,” Steve said quickly. “It's up to you; your choice if you want to or not.” He sighed, wanting to find and hurt everyone who had taught Bucky his opinions didn't matter, starting with that awful merchant in the marketplace. They were still docked; it would be far too easy to just walk back off the Stark 1... He clenched his jaw until it hurt. Bucky always used to be clean-shaven whenever possible, but that had been his choice. Steve felt sick but forced the words out anyway, “It doesn't matter to me either way.”

Bucky gave him a searching look but then nodded again before walking closer. He paused by the desk as though considering, then sat cross-legged on the floor. It was disconcertingly similar to how some people would make slaves kneel at their feet, but Bucky wasn't kneeling, and it certainly wasn't the first time he'd sat on a floor, even while Steve sat in a chair—during the war, there would often only be one chair for their strategy meetings, and everyone had always insisted Steve have it, since he was the commanding officer. Though then, the rest of the Howlers would usually stand so they could all lean over the table to see the maps and such. But after the meetings, Bucky would usually stay, would often have a seat near Steve's chair and they'd talk about random things like songs they liked or the adventures they'd had together as kids until one of them—usually Bucky—decided it was time to sleep. “The tracker's in my arm,” Bucky offered. “Behind the red star.” He tapped his metal bicep through his shirt.

“Right.” Steve rose, tugging his shirt straight out of military habit. “Tony will—we should see if we can get that out before we leave. Tony said to meet him in his lab whenever we're ready.” He offered Bucky a hand.

Smiling a little crookedly, Bucky took the offered hand and pulled himself to his feet.

o0o

“Yep, that's a tracker all right.” Tony had the casing off of Winter's upper arm and was peering through a magnifier into the arm while prodding at the insides with various tools. The magnifier strapped to Tony's head made him look a little like an engineer from one of those old stories about the airships. Steve had insisted that Winter tell them if anything about this procedure hurt, and Tony had agreed that was important and that he didn't want to hurt Winter, but it didn't hurt. It was just...strange to have his arm partially disassembled, here with two men he'd just met. It had been different when his Master had ordered him to sit still and let others work on his arm—it had never been Winter's choice and certainly never been his idea. “The good news is,” Tony announced, straightening, “it's not transmitting any kind of signal, at least nothing I can pick up, and Stark Tech is pretty leading edge. But just to be on the safe side, I'm going to want to get it out before we get underway.” Picking up a different tool, Tony leaned in to poke at Winter's arm again. “No point inviting Maleficent to the christening, not if we can avoid it.”

Steve was sitting in a chair opposite where Winter sat on Tony's workbench, his eyes filled with concern as he visibly tried to keep himself still—he seemed like the type who'd rather be pacing—while watching Winter and Tony closely. With his old Master it would have been to ensure Winter obeyed, but with Steve...he probably just wanted to be sure Tony didn't hurt him.

And how was it that Winter...that Winter _trusted_ Steve so, already? He seemed so sincere, so unselfish. But no one was that good, that honest and pure.

Winter needed to be careful. No matter how adorable, how intensely _genuine_ Steve seemed, he'd only just met him. He had no damned reason to trust a man he'd just met, no damned reason to believe he knew him or understood him, even if he did remember him for reasons he didn't remember—perhaps especially because of that. Winter's flesh hand tightened against his thigh. His shoulders were a wall of tension from his metal shoulder to his flesh one.

“Bucky?” Steve regarded him searchingly, as though unsure if he should be alarmed. “Did something hurt? Are you in pain?”

Winter shook his head sharply, trying to calm his breathing.

To his left, Tony made a soft questioning sound. “I just need you to hold still for this bit—can you do that?”

Winter nodded and focused on being still.

A quick tug and then Tony said, “I think that's it.” He held up his pliers, pinching the bit of circuitry. “I'll take care of this thing, then; thank you for your cooperation, Barnes.” He put the rest of Winter's arm back together, chattering about how it was an intriguing design. “I'd love the chance to do some tweaking, maybe a few upgrades once I get back to my real lab. For now, you two go play.” He gave Winter a companionable pat on his metal bicep then shooed them both out of the lab.

“Here.” Steve held out Winter's shirt.

He'd forgotten it on the bench—had become so used to not actually having a shirt—but Steve had remembered it...Steve seemed so _thoughtful_ , so _attentive_ , so _kind_. Winter almost wished he could just relax and let Steve take care of him—because that was what Masters did for their slaves, even if Steve was doing it entirely wrong. If Winter could just stop second-guessing every single thing either of them did, that would be so much easier. He took the shirt. “Thanks.” He pulled it on, because really, Steve might not use the right words, but he'd clearly wanted Winter to put on the shirt. It counted as an order.

“We should—are you hungry?” Steve's fingers twitched at his side, and Winter wondered if he wanted to take his arm again but was holding himself back for some reason. “I'll show you where the galley and mess are.”

Winter nodded. He was in fact hungry; the meat Tony had given him earlier being the first food he'd had since the previous night. He was also tired, bordering on exhausted, but sleep could wait. He let Steve lead him through the ship's corridors, staying close to Steve but never quite touching him.

The galley and mess when they arrived were at least as impressive as the rest of the ship. The appliances were sleek and modern and the mess itself would fit in smoothly as the dining room of an upscale restaurant or hotel on any of the core worlds, though perhaps it would have to be a very exclusive lounge due its small size.

A dark skinned man with close cropped black hair looked up from putting his dishes in the cleaner and gave Steve and Winter a friendly smile. “Hey. I'm Rhodey.” He offered Winter his hand. “You must be Bucky Barnes.”

Yeah, must be... Winter glanced sideways at Steve for an instant before accepting the handshake and saying, “Yeah.”

“You two actually have the same first name,” Steve pointed out then smiled awkwardly and added, “James.”

Rhodey smiled easily. “Good thing neither of us actually goes by it, hey? That could get confusing.”

“Uh, yeah.” Winter glanced at Steve again, but Steve just gave him an encouraging smile. He wasn't used to people wanting to _talk_ to him, or especially wanting him to talk _back_.

“Well anyway, it was nice meeting you.” Rhodey nodded in his direction. “I'd love to stay and chat, but duty calls.” Rhodey gave Steve a jaunty salute and left.

The chairs looked inviting—no doubt they were quite comfortable—but Winter remained standing and listened attentively as Steve showed him around, explaining where everything was kept.

“Do you want one?” Steve held the drawer open, showing off the apples and oranges inside. Not just actual fresh produce, but _two different kinds_. The galley was also stocked with raw potatoes, onions, and cabbage—Steve had apologized for the current lack of carrots, because of course the Stark 1 would usually have fresh carrots aboard—but potatoes, onions, and cabbage were generally eaten cooked. Apples and oranges could just be...eaten.

Winter nodded, because of course he _wanted_ one, but didn't move to reach for the fruit.

Steve sighed, smiling. “Apple or orange?”

As if it _mattered_. Winter didn't remember having eaten fresh fruit _ever_. Most people seemed to agree such things were delicious. But Winter was taking too long to reply, and Steve was starting to look worried, so Winter finally blurted out, “Apple,” only because 'a' came before 'o' in the alphabet.

o0o

Tony sat, feet resting on his coffee table, as he slowly sipped his drink. It wasn't the best Scotch, but it wasn't the worst either. And if Tony hadn't already sampled the worst Scotch in the galaxy, he felt deeply sorry for anyone who had.

Still, he couldn't help smirking at the thought.

Happy and Rhodey were getting them underway—not that JARVIS couldn't have done it alone, but they always insisted on this sort of 'human in the loop' stuff—now that the tracker was safely disassembled into its most base and non-threatening components, and Tony had given them the go-ahead. He might have called it an 'order' but for all that they both technically worked for him, both seemed to think they knew better than he did about basically everything. Which might be sorta true. In any case, things just ran smoother if he treated them as equals.

At least his staff had taken the new guest in stride. But then, mentioning Captain Rogers just seemed to have that effect on most people. Even Pepper. Shaking his head, Tony grinned crookedly to himself. Who knew, 'I bought a slave today, but I bought him for Captain Rogers, so that makes it okay, right?' would have gone over so well. Which obviously wasn't what he'd actually _said_ , but it's essentially what had happened.

“Sir.” JARVIS' voice cut through the quiet in Tony's cabin. “A call from Ms Potts.”

Interesting timing that. “Holo?”

“Yes, sir.”

Tony grimaced slightly as he swallowed a sip of Scotch, nodding. “Bring it up.”

Pepper's face appeared above the coffee table this time, because that's where he was sitting. “Tony.”

“Pepper.” Tony leaned forward, rolling his glass between his palms. “Has something come up?” It hadn't been _that_ long since they'd last spoken. Just a couple of hours, really.

“Something I thought you should be aware of, yes.” She tucked a loose lock of her reddish-blonde hair behind her ear. “We've had some new arrivals.”

“Oh really?” It wasn't too strange for new faces to show up at the Tower, especially now in the wake of the war, but there was always risks there too, when no one really knew who they could trust. Even those loyal to SHIELD could be a risk if they believed himself or any of his associates to be HYDRA. Not that Tony could be one-hundred percent sure none of his associates _were_ _n't_ in fact HYDRA, but he tried to be optimistic about these things. “Anyone we know?”

“Maria Hill, for one.” Pepper's eyes moved, no doubt tracking a list he couldn't see. “She brought the rest with her: a biochemist named Jemma Simmons, a nurse named Sharon Carter, and Sharon Carter's niece, Shannon Carter—she's a student.”

“Hill and Carter are on Steve's list.” Steve had given them a list, a depressingly _short_ list, of people he was pretty sure they could trust, people who probably—most likely—weren't HYDRA. Maybe Steve wasn't the best judge of that sort of thing, but who was, really? And it was better to have a starting point, to have something. Better than nothing, anyway. “I'm sure Bruce would really appreciate Simmons' and Carter's help, assuming they're looking for work. Were they just visiting or looking to stay for a while?”

“I got the definite impression they all mean to stay,” Pepper replied, “and Hill offered her services in security.”

Tony nodded. That made sense, and while they weren't exactly quite as dangerously lacking in that area as medical—or at least, they didn't seem to be, but security was harder to judge, since you never knew how short-staffed you were until you were facing an actual attack...well, her help would definitely be appreciated. “Just so long as she realizes Happy's in charge, and that we're not SHIELD, and all that.”

Pepper gave him one of the smiles she favoured when he was trying to do her job again.

He rolled his eyes, sitting back and rubbing his hand over his goatee. “I'm just...agreeing—out loud—with what I already know you're thinking.” He looked down, chuckling softly. Meeting her gaze once again, he added in cocky mock-seriousness, “I can always overrule you if I want, you know, whenever I want. My company and all.” He took a sip of his Scotch just because he could.

“Well,” she replied, her smile perfectly pleasant, “you can always try.”

He snorted. “I wouldn't have made you CEO if I didn't trust your judgement.” He tapped his fingers against the side of his glass. “About this biochemist, too. If you and Banner—and I guess Hill too—think she's okay, then I have no objections.”

Pepper looked down for a moment then looked back up, taking a breath. “I'd love to say I have a good sense of who to trust, but after this whole HYDRA thing, I suppose we all learned about how unreliable our instincts can be. I know Steve and Natasha were especially shook up about Sitwell, even if Natasha would never admit it. But if I _could_ still trust my instincts, I'd trust Simmons in a heartbeat.”

Tony raised his glass and cocked an eyebrow at her. “That's good enough for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the kudos, bookmarks, and subscriptions are so encouraging! :) Thank you all so much for showing support for my story!
> 
> Notes on characters and canon:  
> Pepper's aunt Patricia takes her name from Patricia Potts of Earth-904913.  
> Jemma Simmons is of course the same Jemma Simmons seen on 'Agents of SHIELD.'  
> Shannon Carter, aka "American Dream," has yet to appear in the MCU and is based primarily on her Earth-982 appearance.


	3. Glass Coffins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are sausages, an orange, and memories.

Winter slowly ate his apple while Steve cooked. The apple was, in fact, delicious, and he found himself wanting to savour it—maybe this was a reward for being good while Tony removed the tracker. The smells of cooking meat and onions prickled at his nose and tickled the corners of his eyes. Steve had told him to sit, so he sat where he could see Steve through the galley doorway. The chairs were just as comfortable as he'd expected, perhaps more so.

As he watched Steve move about the galley, Winter's vision clouded, his eyes unfocusing, and the scene shifted with the gentle lurching sensation of an elevator decelerating. Winter's metal fingers clenched involuntarily on the edge of the table. And there was Steve, somehow he still knew it was Steve, though he was small—short, thin, frail—turning to smile bashfully over his shoulder while stirring a pot on a battered stove with one narrow hand, one narrow arm. The walls behind him were grey and stained with smoke, and the beige shirt on Steve's thin back was worn and faded. That was all there was—such a brief flash, but it felt like a memory.

“You were smaller.” The words were out of Winter's mouth before he could think them, before he could remind himself of all the reasons he should always think before speaking.

Steve looked at him, slowly setting down the spatula. “I was,” he agreed. Stepping through the doorway between the galley and the mess, Steve regarded him with concern swirling in his eyes. “You okay? I mean, you kinda look like...”

Like he'd seen a ghost? He felt as though he had. “I'm sorry, I—” Winter set the apple core down on the edge of the table and rubbed his fingers against his pant-leg. “I think I was remembering...”

“Okay.” Steve nodded, still looking unsure while rocking his weight slightly from one foot to the other.

Winter sighed, looking at his metal hand where it rested curled into a loose fist on the surface of the table. “There are...gaps,” he admitted. “There's a lot I don't remember.” He looked back up, meeting Steve's eyes. “Just now, I was remembering you. All I really remember is you.”

Steve walked over, closing the distance in a few quick strides. He sat down facing Winter and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “I'm sorry, Buck. I wish I could—” He ducked his head and shook it, then looked back up at Winter. “That there was something I could do.”

“It's all right. I think just being with you helps.” Winter offered him a smile with more confidence than he actually felt. “And there are worse things someone could remember.”

“Yeah.” Steve smiled, bashful like in the memory—the same expression on an altered face. “I suppose there are.”

Gods, Steve was beautiful. Especially when he smiled, especially like that. Winter was reminded again of the ancient lighthouse on the cliff, guiding the ships home. “I...” He should have said it earlier, but now was better than never. “It's good to see you again, Steve.”

Steve smiled again, all inviting warmth and little crinkles around his eyes. “Yeah.” He turned his head, looking towards the galley. “I should get back to the food before it burns.” Rising, he clapped Winter companionably on the arm. “And don't forget to toss that apple core into the composter.” He pointed to the bin beside the dish cleaner.

Nodding, Winter got up and disposed of his apple core while Steve headed back to the stove. That was another order he'd managed to follow. It felt...right. Perhaps more right than following his old Master's orders had, though at least his old Master had been clear with his orders so Winter was never confused about what he was supposed to do. But maybe this way was more of a challenge, so it meant more when Winter managed to get it right? And so far, Steve hadn't punished him.

As he sat back down in the chair, he pondered morosely the prospect of Steve punishing him. He'd never liked being punished, of course—who would?—but he imagined it would somehow hurt more if it were Steve.

o0o

“Something wrong with the food?” Steve asked softly. Bucky had only taken maybe five bites and was mostly just pushing the food around his plate with his fork. He remembered Bucky being partial to chicken, and it tasted fine to Steve...

Bucky met his gaze, eyes wide. “N-no.” His metal hand tightened into a fist against his thigh. “It's really...it's really good.” His gaze dropped back to his plate and his shoulders hunched. “I'm sorry.”

“Buck, you remember back when I was sick all the time, and sometimes I wouldn't want to eat, but you'd annoy me until I did? I was a stubborn little punk, but even I knew you were right. Do I have to turn that around here?” Steve tried for a playful smile. He wasn't sure he could carry through with the threat, though. And that was a disturbing thought, because how could his desire for his friend to be _happy_ outweigh his desire for him to be _healthy_? What kind of twisted sequence of priorities was _that_? He sighed then reached out and placed his hand gently on Bucky's wrist, stilling it from pushing the food around his plate again. “Please, Bucky; I need you to eat.”

Exhaling, Bucky straightened up and began to eat steadily with no sign of his earlier mood. Steve frowned slightly. That had been much easier than he'd anticipated. It was almost as if...there was a switch, and Steve had inadvertently pressed it. He tried not to worry about it, though, and focused on finishing his own food.

When they'd both cleared their dishes away, they walked back to Steve's cabin together. Steve found a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that looked like they should fit Bucky. They were so close to the same size now, which still felt a bit strange—before the supersoldier serum, they could never have worn each other's clothes unless maybe Steve had wanted to be swallowed whole by one of Bucky's shirts like Jonah being swallowed by the whale. He handed the clothes to Bucky and told him to go ahead and get ready for bed. “I'm going to take a quick shower.” He felt like he needed one more than usual after the day he'd had.

o0o

Winter quickly changed into the clothes Steve had given him. For once, Steve hadn't tried to make Winter choose anything and had just told him what to wear. That was how things should be, and he felt some of the tension bleed from his shoulders like pus from a lanced blister. Steve had also ordered him to eat, even if he had—again—used different words than Winter was accustomed to for orders. The order had helped. Winter neatly folded his clothes and put them on the shelf next to the other shirts Steve had got for him in the market.

He put his boots in the corner, out of the way. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he curled his toes into the carpet and waited for Steve to be done in the shower. The bed looked and felt so comfortable, and if he'd been tired before dinner, he was downright _sleepy_ now, in addition to being exhausted, as the food in his belly lulled his body into a sense of safety. There were far too many unknowns for him to be truly safe—if anyone could ever be 'truly' safe—but he was clean and fed and the most dangerous person on board the ship seemed to want nothing more than to protect him. As much as he wanted to, though, he couldn't just lie down and sleep—Steve had said he was allowed, but that was just in general. Steve might have further orders for him; he'd said to get ready for bed, not to go to bed. Winter's eyelids threatened to close, drawn as though by artificial gravity and false security, but he jerked his body more upright, forcing his eyes to stay open.

Somehow, Winter had missed hearing the water stop running in the shower, because Steve was walking out of the bathroom dressed nearly identically to Winter in sweatpants and a white t-shirt. The only major difference was that Steve's pants were dark blue while Winter's were pale grey.

Though of course, both pairs of pants were Steve's. And Winter himself was Steve's.

“You look tired,” Steve commented, concern painted in gentle strokes across his face as he walked closer.

It wouldn't do any good to try to lie, so Winter just nodded.

Stopping as he reached the bed, Steve gave him an apologetic smile. “You didn't have to wait up for me.”

Winter just stared at him. Steve had barely been in the bathroom ten minutes. He considered briefly if it would be better to sound more tentative or more confident, finally settling on confidence. “I wanted to.”

The immediate flash of approval and affection in Steve's eyes was more than enough confirmation that it had been the right response. “Well, I think we're both about ready to sleep now. Which side of the bed do you want?”

Winter was really too tired for these _decisions_. He suppressed the urge to growl, groan, or whine, and pondered the question. Closer to the wall would mean Steve could get in and out of the bed without Winter being a potential obstacle, but closer to the door felt more protective—if some threat were to barge through the door with intent to harm Steve, Winter would already be between him and the threat. Though, closer to the wall would perhaps help Steve feel as though he were protecting Winter—something Steve did seem to want—while closer to the door might be taken as a sign that Winter wanted to escape. He neither wanted nor wanted Steve to think he wanted to escape. And he could likely protect Steve nearly as well from either side of the bed. The best position would undoubtedly be just inside the door, but Steve had made it clear he did not want his slave sleeping on the floor. “The back,” he said finally, “by the wall.”

As they climbed into bed, Steve told JARVIS to kill the lights. The pillow was enticingly, indulgently soft under Winter's head.

Though the bed was nearly large enough for them both to lie flat on their backs without touching, Steve rolled onto his side to face Winter and laid one hand on Winter's arm. “G'night, Bucky.”

o0o

Sometime during the night, Steve stirred partly awake in the darkness of his cabin. The bed was soft as ever, but warmer...in the most pleasant way a bed could be warm: Bucky was here...beside him. Wondrously, miraculously alive. Steve could barely make out the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, but the soft sounds of his breaths—in and out, in and out—were a calming lullaby. Running his hand sleepily down Bucky's arm, Steve encircled Bucky's wrist with gentle fingers, finding his pulse where it beat proudly like a marching rhythm beneath the skin.

Exhaling contentedly, Steve shifted closer, pressing his forehead against Bucky's bicep and inhaling that welcome scent—familiar even after so much change and so many years apart.

He drifted back to sleep while half-formed prayers of heartfelt thanks swirled blissfully in his head.

o0o

Winter awoke, lurching unevenly into consciousness as the unexpected warmth and unnerving softness of the bed fought doggedly to keep him asleep, pulling at his body with dusky phantom fingers. He suddenly felt as though he was drowning, as though darkness and cold were closing over his head and filling his nose and lungs. Without conscious thought or choice, he found himself in a crouch, back pressed to the wall, gasping and rubbing at his throat with his flesh hand as he blinked in an attempt to clear his vision.

“Bucky?” Steve...that was Steve, and this was Steve's bed. Winter knew Steve somehow; Steve was important. Steve rubbed at his eyes as he slowly sat up. Shit. In his panic, Winter had pulled the blankets off Steve and woken him up.

“Sorry.” Oh, gods, Steve was Winter's new owner. He should have damn well remembered that. And 'Bucky' was...the name Steve called Winter, even if he hadn't yet given it to him properly. He should have remembered that too. His metal hand tightened into a fist against his thigh as he ran his shaky flesh hand through his hair. Dropping his gaze, Winter shifted into a kneel with his head bowed. “Sorry, Steve.”

“Sorry for what?” Steve's voice still sounded sleepy, confused.

“I woke you.” Keeping his eyes down, Winter couldn't properly gauge Steve's reactions, but eye contact was too risky when he already deserved a punishment.

“Hey.” Steve shifted closer on the bed. “It's all right, Bucky.”

Before he could stop them, Winter's eyes shot up to look at Steve's face. Was Steve really not going to punish him? He dropped his gaze and almost said, 'Sorry,' again, then wasn't sure why he'd stopped himself.

“Bucky.” Steve's voice was firm with just a hint of begging lurking beneath the surface, the fleeting shadow of some unknown creature. “Please look at me.”

Raising his head, Winter obeyed. Even roused so unexpectedly from sleep, Steve still looked so kind, so gentle. The incongruity of that expression being worn by such an undeniably dangerous being pressed against the back of Winter's mind like shatter-sharp scraps of ice, and he was unable to suppress a shiver.

“Are you cold?” Steve was worried. Of course he was. “I could have JARVIS turn up the heat.”

Winter shook his head. The temperature in the room was fine. The heart hammering in his chest just needed to catch up with the idea that Steve was— _probably_ —not going to punish his slave. Even when he had every reason and right.

“You woke up pretty suddenly.” Steve regarded him, thoughtful. “Did you have a nightmare?”

Winter didn't remember if he'd had a nightmare; he didn't remember if he'd dreamed at all, but he nodded once and it didn't feel like a lie.

“C'mere.” Steve reached for him, lips tilted up at one side.

Winter crawled forward into the hug, wrapping his arms around Steve's broad back and pressing his face into the crook of Steve's impressively muscled neck. Maybe it was the order or maybe it was the soothing touch, but Winter found he could relax, if only a little. And if Steve didn't realize he should punish Winter for waking him, Winter probably shouldn't suggest it. He sighed, resting some of his weight against Steve's sturdy frame. “Thank you.”

Pulling back to look him in the eye, Steve grinned. “Don't mention it; you'd always help me when I had nightmares.” Then something changed in Steve's gaze and his eyes slid away.

“I'm sorry I wasn't here.” Because Steve would have had nightmares after losing his friend. The realization twisted in Winter's gut, cold as the blackness between the stars.

Steve was shaking his head, blinking bravely against the tears in his eyes. Such a good soldier. “I'm just glad you're here _now_.”

Winter didn't like thinking of Steve being sad, of Steve waking up alone and having to comfort himself after his nightmares. He was suddenly all the more glad he had insisted on staying in Steve's room. “I want to protect you,” he said, because Steve always wanted to know what he wanted.

Steve's smile was warm as autumn sun on ripening wheat. “We'll protect each other. All right?”

Winter nodded, returning Steve's smile. Protecting Steve had been his plan all along, but now it was an order.

He wondered what other orders he might manage to get Steve to give him.

o0o

“The hash browns are great, Happy.” Tony raised his glass of orange juice to his friend in appreciation. “Just the right amount of golden-brown.”

Happy gave him a wry smile, swallowing a sip of his own juice. “Pepper's trained me well is all I can say.”

Tony was about to say something...clever, he was sure it was going to be clever, when Steve and his mechanical-armed friend walked into the mess and completely interrupted his train of thought. “Good morning, sleepyheads! Hope you're hungry, because Happy made enough eggs to feed an army.” Which was probably a mild exaggeration, but... Those two were just kind of desperately, _disgustingly_ happy together in a way that was confusing the more witty parts of Tony's brain. And not that it was any of his business—not at all—but Tony hadn't missed the fact that while Barnes did have a cabin officially assigned to him, no one had actually slept there. It was Tony's ship—and it was important not to forget that Barnes was a dangerous unknown who it seemed _very_ likely had some connection to HYDRA even if he had in fact been a slave owned by a HYDRA operative rather than a willing operative himself. So it wasn't weird at all for Tony to keep tabs on things like where the guy slept. It wasn't stalking and it wasn't pervy. Shut up.

But if Steve was happy, that was a _good_ thing. Even if he did still look at Barnes like he was terrified he'd melt away.

“You're staring,” Rhodey said, elbowing Tony in the ribs as the new arrivals found places at the table with plates piled up to resemble small mountains.

“What?” Blinking, Tony turned to look at his friend. “Sorry; I was lost in thought.”

Rhodey shook his head, mockery flashing in his eyes. “Yeah, I could tell.”

Tony gestured vaguely, encompassing both Steve and his massive pile of eggs and potatoes. “I just wish _I_ could eat that much food and still look like Hercules.” Not that Tony ever looked like Hercules, but that wasn't the point. That supersoldier serum...too bad no one had yet been successful at duplicating the formula. Leaning closer to inspect Steve's plate, Tony added, “I guess you like sausage.” In Tony's defence, Steve _had_ piled at least six sausages on top of everything else, but Tony couldn't suppress his own childish giggling then, not with the looks Happy and Rhodey were shooting him. Or the look of blank confusion Steve was giving him in response to the laughter. “Sorry.” Tony finally managed to compose himself, wiping at his eyes. “I mean, obviously, we all like sausage.” They _were_ all eating it, after all. And that didn't need to be an innuendo, but apparently Tony was still twelve. “As you may have noticed, the Stark 1 is currently a bit of a sausage fest anyway. Not that there's anything wrong with that.” It was impressive, really, that Tony could say that with a— _mostly_ —straight face. At least he wasn't giggling anymore.

Rhodey rolled his eyes, kicking Tony under the table, then turned his attention to Barnes with the definite air of changing the subject. “Barnes, I don't know if you've met Happy?”

“We haven't yet had the pleasure.” Happy gave Barnes a nod and a friendly smile. “I'm Happy Hogan, Stark's head of security.”

Tony should have been making the introductions himself, but he'd been too busy making juvenile jokes.

Barnes shot Steve a quick look before nodding to Happy. After a pause that stretched just long enough to become slightly awkward, he said, “It's nice to meet you.”

“I'm honoured to meet you, really.” Happy set his fork down on the side of his plate and leaned forward in his chair. “I would have never thought I'd meet Captain Rogers—I suppose no one did, uh, obviously—but now Sergeant Barnes as well?” He glanced down at his plate then looked back up, grinning apologetically. “But I'm sure you'd rather I kept my fanboy side in check.”

“Yeah,” Rhodey cut in helpfully, “we wouldn't want this conversation to get _weird_ or anything.”

Turning towards him, Tony cocked one eyebrow, but Rhodey pointedly ignored him. And okay, yeah, Tony kind of deserved that.

o0o

“Apple or orange?” Steve looked up at Winter from where he stood at the open drawer in the galley. Steve had shown Winter around the Stark 1 and then they'd spent some time lifting weights in the gym. Now, Steve said it was lunchtime. It seemed his new owner really did mean to feed him well. And often.

But he was supposed to be making a choice, so, “Orange.”

Steve tossed him the orange and Winter caught it easily in his metal hand. Steve grinned. “Good catch.” As if that hadn't been the easiest throw _ever_.

Winter returned Steve's grin, turning the orange over in his hands. He wasn't actually sure how to eat one—the apple had been obvious, but the orange was...less so. He sighed, swallowed whatever sad, pathetic thing he had that passed for pride, and asked, “Have I eaten one of these before?”

Steve cocked his head slightly to one side. “Well, not _often_ that I know of, but we used to have them at Christmas sometimes, so yes.”

Winter honestly wished he could remember. It might be...nice to remember Christmas. He offered Steve a sheepish smile, scratching at the back of his head with his flesh hand. “I don't actually remember how...”

He wasn't sure what he'd expected as Steve's reaction, but Steve just took the orange, told him to have a seat in the mess, sat next to him, and showed him how to remove the peel, then offered him the orange again once it was ready to eat.

Winter meant to say, 'Thanks,' but the sharp, vibrant smell of the orange's peel prickling in his nose made his vision blur, and he saw broken nutshells piled on the corner of a low table and tasted the sticky sweetness of cheap chocolate in his mouth. Steve—small, thin Steve—was offering him half of an orange and saying, 'I can't eat the whole thing, Bucky.' A lopsided smile. 'Wouldn't want to let it go to waste.'

Winter blinked as his vision refocused on the present: the tall, muscular man offering a whole orange. “We only had the one orange,” Winter said softly. “I should have made you eat the whole thing.” Steve had been sick, had needed it so much more.

“You remember that?” Steve's smile was all brilliant sweetness, like better chocolate than they'd been able to afford.

Winter nodded. “We had peanuts and chocolate, and you made me eat half the orange.”

“Oranges were expensive.” Looking down at the orange on the table, Steve picked at a bit of the white stuff that still clung to the fruit. “Harder to transport.”

That made sense. Fresh produce was always more expensive, more so the farther out you got. “You should have eaten the whole orange.”

Steve shook his head, smiling softly. “I really couldn't.”

Winter stared at him. “Have you always been...” What was it about Steve that made him blurt things out without thinking?

Steve tilted his head, leaning forward in his seat. “Been what?”

“Impossible.” Because how the hell could anyone be... _Steve_?

Laughing, Steve shrugged. “You have called me that...among other things.”

“What other things?” Maybe this is how he used to talk to Steve—easily, without having to think everything through carefully—when neither of them had been a slave.

Steve grinned wryly, looking down. “Stubborn, foolhardy...stupid.” He looked up again, meeting Winter's eyes. “You had quite a list.”

Steve, _this_ Steve, at least looked like he could—probably—take care of himself in a fight. But the one from his brief flashes of memory was so fragile, so frail. Bucky must have _hated_ stupid, foolhardy, stubborn Steve for making him love him until he cared—until he couldn't _stop_ caring—and then insisting on doing stupid, foolhardy, stubborn things. Shaking his head again in an attempt to clear it, Winter reached for the orange. “Thanks.”

“Hey, no problem.” Steve stood up, gesturing towards the galley. “I should really get to work on lunch before it's supper time.”

Winter nodded, giving him a small smile as he started to eat the orange.

It turned out oranges tasted even better than apples, but the taste wasn't as much of a shock as it was a memory—fresh and sweet and acid against his tongue—brought back to life like Snow White from her glass coffin.

o0o

Steve had to admit he was out of his depth. Completely, desperately, hopelessly lost when it came to Bucky. He wished, not for the first time, that Sam was here. Because there weren't exactly counsellors who specialized in helping amnesiac assassin slaves, but Sam at least had some training and experience in an area that was at least _tangentially_ related to what Bucky needed.

Steve thanked God he had not in fact had a panic attack when Bucky had woken from a nightmare and _kneeled_ to him, even if the main reason he'd managed to stay calm was simply that he hadn't been quite awake enough to fully appreciate what was happening.

But for all that Steve had no idea what he was doing, Bucky seemed to be doing okay. Or at least, doing better? He was clean and eating well, and despite the sudden early morning waking, he had slept more that night than they'd gotten many nights during the war. He was relaxing, getting used to life aboard the Stark 1, and even remembering more.

And he was _alive_. That was more important than anything. Closing his eyes as he tightened his grip on the cool metal railing in front of the observation window where he and Bucky were watching the stars go past, Steve thought, 'Thank you; thank you for giving him back to me.'

It was something he'd stopped asking for after those first few weeks, after everyone had repeatedly—though kindly, though gently—told him just to accept his friend's death and move on. 'We never saw a body,' Steve had said, voice even despite the angry burning behind his eyes and the crushing tightness in his chest. 'That makes it harder; I know,' Howard had replied, sighing, rubbing his forehead, eyes and voice awash with pity, 'but no one could survive that, Steve.' The days of walking on water, of walking whole from the fiery furnace, of shaking off venomous snakebites and walking back out of tombs were long gone.

And maybe those stories were never meant to be literal, anyway.

But when Steve turned to look, there Bucky was beside him. Confused and undoubtedly changed, brushing too-long hair out of his face with the metal hand that had replaced the natural one Steve had known. But it was still _him_ —not entirely whole, but still walking, having survived the fiery furnace after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...for those of you who might be wondering why the heck this fic is even rated M anyway, the next chapter is where it starts to earn that rating. (Though probably not exactly in the way you guys would like...)
> 
> This chapter now has fanart! :D  
> "[Glad you're here](http://atwojay.deviantart.com/art/Glad-you-re-here-466861350)," a photo manip by [atwojay](http://atwojay.deviantart.com/) ([EstherA2J](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EstherA2J)).


	4. Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a kiss and a shooting, and Bruce isn't that kind of doctor.

“Steve,” Winter said, looking up and grinning as his owner came out of the bathroom surrounded by warm, damp air that smelled of soap. Steve's freshly-washed hair stood on end, several shades darker than it was dry. Winter didn't even have to force the smile; it came naturally. He was slowly coming to the realization that Steve was the best damn person in the whole damned galaxy, better than any human had a right to be. Steve wasn't even a bad owner for all he exasperated Winter with his obvious lack of knowledge of how this whole slavery thing worked—he was kind and gentle and generous, and how could a slave complain about those qualities in the person who possessed him? But he really was so damn hesitant to give actual orders, and that left Winter adrift and purposeless more often than not. That Steve had wanted him and still did want him was clear—but other than taking better care of him than most parents did for their children, he didn't seem to know what to do with his slave.

“Waitin' up for me again, Bucky?” Steve's lopsided smile was fond as he approached, reaching out to gently ruffle Winter's hair.

“Yeah.” Winter leaned into the touch, letting his eyelids fall shut in contentment. Steve's desire to touch Winter was something best encouraged, after all. And godsdamnit if it didn't feel good. If Steve would only ask Winter to pleasure him, that would doubtless feel good too—for both of them.

Steve chuckled, moving his hand away and sitting down on the bed next to Winter.

Winter turned to look at him, unsure why Steve would laugh. “What?”

“Sorry.” Steve shook his head, looking down at the carpet. “I just...I keep expecting...” Steve sighed, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly as he leaned forward to rest his forearms on his knees.

After a pause long enough that it became clear Steve wasn't going to continue, Winter touched Steve's arm tentatively with the fingers of his flesh hand. “Expecting what?” Was there something he should be doing differently? Something Steve wanted from him?

Glancing back at him, Steve shrugged. “Back before...you probably would have knocked my hand away, told me to get lost. I just—I keep expecting that: for you to act like you used to.” He held one of his large hands loosely inside the other and ducked his head. “I look at you and I keep forgetting how much time has passed and how much has changed.”

How could Winter hope to act like Bucky when he had only the very faintest idea of how Bucky had acted? If that's what Steve wanted...it would take a lot of retraining, the sort of retraining Steve seemed entirely unwilling to actually _do_. At the very least, though, Steve could explain what he wanted. “Tell me what to do.”

Turning towards Winter, Steve shot him a confused, incredulous grin. “I'm not actually your CO anymore, Buck—that's not my job.”

Damn it _all_. It _was_ Steve's job. Obviously. Winter rubbed his flesh thumb—twitchy and jittery—across the back of his metal hand. “You're my owner.” Could even be his Master, if only he'd try. It wouldn't take much, but Steve still had to do _something_. Winter suppressed the urge to roll his eyes—no doubt Steve hadn't even looked at those pamphlets the merchant had tried to give him. Just let Tony stuff them in a drawer somewhere or even throw them out.

Steve's eyebrows drew together. “Bucky, you're my _friend_ ; I'm not going to treat you like a slave.”

Winter turned his head and stared down at his clasped hands, tightening his grip and hunching his shoulders. He _was_ a slave, though. That was the only thing he knew _how_ to be. He didn't know how to be Bucky and he didn't know how to be a friend. He was failing at everything Steve wanted, everything Steve expected.

And still, Steve wouldn't punish him. And as much as Winter disliked the idea himself, it was necessary.

“Bucky?” Steve interrupted Winter's thoughts, laying a warm hand on his flesh arm. And...that was one thing Steve wanted that Winter could be sure of: Steve wanted to touch him. Wanted to more than he actually did it sometimes, which was confusing, but...Steve was the best and most infuriating human being the in whole damn universe: the purest, the kindest, the most stubbornly, stupidly self-sacrificing. He would probably never even _ask_ for what he wanted. Because gods forbid Steve Rogers ever want anything for himself. And for all Winter knew, they might have been lovers before—he didn't quite have enough memories to tell, but...Steve felt important. Had always felt important. More important than anything ever had, than he'd thought anything ever could. And it would explain why he was the only thing Winter remembered, wouldn't it?

Turning toward Steve, Winter looked into his eyes, searching. He saw confusion and concern and something that might be aching desperation. It was good enough. Right from that first meeting in the marketplace, everything with Steve had been a gamble, so why stop now? Carefully—because, gods, Steve was still his owner no matter how he chose to act—Winter slid his flesh hand to the back of Steve's neck, watching as confusion swirled more powerfully in those amazing blue eyes. There had never been eyes so flawless in the history of the universe, or a shade of blue more worthy of poem or song. Pulling Steve forward to meet him, Winter leaned in and kissed him. It was a tender kiss, soft and hesitant, but filled with all the warmth Winter could muster—sweet, like marshmallows melting in hot cocoa.

Steve, however, was worryingly still; he didn't move, didn't return the kiss, hardly even seemed to be breathing. Winter was about to pull back—to see if Steve was all right, to apologize—when Steve himself pulled back. “Bucky what—” Steve swallowed, blinking. “What are you doing?”

Winter blinked as well, trying to decide how to respond. Steve didn't seem angry, just...clearly surprised and even more confused than before. The theory that they'd been lovers before seemed less likely, since Steve may very well have never been kissed before by _anyone_. That didn't, however, discount the possibility that Bucky had been in love with Steve. In fact, that seemed more likely now than ever, because the tops of Steve's cheeks were pink as though roughly kissed by the sun, and Winter found himself jealous of any sun that had ever made Steve's cheeks that colour. Finally he said, “I want to make you happy,” because it was absolutely _true_ , and what Winter wanted had always been important to Steve.

But Steve pulled back further, eyes sliding away and down as he turned away, his shoulders hunching. “No, Buck—you don't—that's not—” Steve ran one hand roughly over his face. “You don't have to do that.”

Intellectually, Winter had been aware that Steve might reject him. It _had_ been a gamble, after all. He just hadn't expected it to hurt this much. Hadn't even considered how it might feel, actually. Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on his thighs as his lips twisted into an unhappy grimace. He tried to ignore the hot burning sensation behind his eyes. He was just too damn tired of being so damn careful, and his other gambles had worked out so well they'd made him too used to getting what he wanted. And he had _wanted_ Steve—more than he'd imagined it was possible to want. He felt something inside him break with almost a physical snapping sensation. “What the hell _do_ I have to do, then?” Turning to face Steve again, he glared, intentionally challenging. “Fucking _tell_ me, you self-righteous bastard.”

“Bucky...” Steve's voice was pitched to soothe, and at any other time it might have worked.

He reached out to touch Winter's arm, but Winter jerked away. Actually pulling away from Steve's touch felt akin to tearing his own skin off, but it was the closest opportunity Steve was giving him to outright defiant disobedience, so he'd take it. He let out a rough, wordless growl, cradling his flesh arm against his chest with his metal one—he may as well have been physically hurt, considering. He could feel the tears on his face now, hot and salty, but they didn't matter. Unwilling to remain seated when filled with so much charged energy—and since Steve wouldn't godsdamn _tell_ him what to do anyway—Winter lurched to his feet, stumbling away from the bed. He really should look at Steve, because it would hurt more, but he just couldn't make himself do it.

“Bucky!” So much concern in Steve's voice. Gods, it hurt to cause Steve any pain, but what choice had he left Winter? “Bucky, please.” Steve was closer now, standing so near but not touching—once again denying himself what he wanted.

“Please _what?_ ” Bucky snarled, turning his head to glare at Steve.

Steve exhaled helplessly, spreading his hands at his sides to show he was unarmed. Not that Steve needed a weapon to be a threat. “Let me help you. I—I don't understand, but I'm _trying_.” He swallowed, shaking his head slightly. “I don't know what to do.”

Winter did roll his eyes then, because _that_ much had been obvious. But the merchant had given Steve all the information he needed; it was no one else's fault if he'd refused to read or follow the directions. “You are _not_ ,” Winter said, voice dark and brittle, “going to let me get away with this.”

“'Get away with'?” Steve shrugged his shoulders. But there was a hint of exasperation in his voice, and that was a start anyway. “What are you even talking about?”

Winter turned to face Steve, unconsciously falling into a combat stance. “You're not going to let your slave defy and disrespect you.”

Steve's eyes narrowed, and he actually _glared_ at Winter. “You are not a slave, Bucky!” The glare melted away to helpless confusion once again. “And...you—what the heck would you expect me to do? _Punish_ you?”

Well, “Yes.” Of _course_.

“That's not going to happen.” Steve said the words with such finality.

Winter's heart sank. It seemed he had few choices left. Quickly, expertly—because he actually _was_ an expert—Winter slapped Steve across the face with the back of his metal hand.

It damned well should have been enough, but instead of retaliating, Steve was just staring at him with wide, hurt eyes, one hand coming up to touch gingerly at his newly-reddened cheek. His voice was soft and hesitant when he spoke. “Bucky?”

So Winter hit him again, this time adjusting the angle to split that enticing lower lip, the one he'd wanted so much to nibble teasingly and suck into his mouth. But Steve was so tied up in denying his own desires, even _he_ probably didn't know if he'd wanted to kiss Winter back. The bright red blood beading up on Steve's swelling skin begged Winter to lick it off, but he just glared at it and then at Steve's eyes. Steve's stupidly, _stubbornly_ still not actually angry eyes. “Fight _back_ , you idiot.”

“I'm not—” Steve swallowed, closing his eyes for a second. His words were, unsurprisingly, slightly slurred. He shook his head, looking back up to meet Winter's eyes. “I'm not going to fight you, Buck.”

And he _didn't_. He may as well have been a child's absurdly large, freakishly muscular doll for how he let Winter move him about, slamming him to the wall and holding him there by an unyielding metal hand about the throat. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Winter hissed, face so close to Steve's he could practically taste the tang of blood in the millimetres of air between them.

“Please, Bucky,” Steve choked. “I don't wanna hurt you.”

To be fair, Winter didn't want to hurt Steve either, but he was willing to do it for both their sakes. However hard he had to push...and so far, he hadn't even broken any bones. May have cracked one of Steve's ribs... But the serum would heal that up in no time. Winter had no reason to feel guilty.

The sound of the door opening behind him alerted Winter to the new threat, but he only turned in time to register Happy and Rhodey and the ICER weapons in their hands before the first cartridge punched into his chest like a concentrated drop of cryo. His arms were going limp, and he wasn't touching Steve anymore as he stumbled forward a step— _should have been wearing armour_ , his sluggish brain supplied.

“Wait!” Steve's voice called from behind Winter. Then another cartridge took Winter in the head, and everything was dark and cold at once.

o0o

“You shot him.” Steve's voice, slurred as it was by his injuries and _the blood running from his nose and mouth_ , still managed to convey a clear sense of incredulity and shocked disapproval.

“Of course we shot him,” Tony snapped, pulling the maddeningly uncooperative idiot Steve to his feet. “ _You_ might be willing to let him strangle you while he uses your brain to play ping-pong inside your skull, but the rest of us aren't willing to just sit by and let that happen. Now are you going to walk to the infirmary, or do I have to Ice you too?” Tony waved his ICER pistol where Steve could see it. He hadn't had to use it, since Happy and Rhodey's shots had been enough, thank all the gods. Come to think of it, taking down Steve Rogers would probably require at least three shots if not more. It wasn't a test Tony was particularly eager to try, regardless of scientific curiosity. Though Steve would probably be totally into that, because...hell. The guy was a bloody freaking masochist.

“I...” Steve swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, staring at the blood like he didn't know what it was. “I'll walk.” Just as they were leaving his cabin, though, he turned back to look at Barnes' unconscious form. “What about Bucky?”

Tony raised an eyebrow, incredulous. “You worried he bruised his knuckles on your jaw? ICERs are one-hundred percent safe with no lasting side effects. He'll be _fine_.” Tightening his grip on Steve's bicep, Tony added in a gruffer voice, “Now _walk_ before he wakes up and tries to kill you again.”

o0o

Steve allowed Tony to lead him through the halls of the ship to the infirmary. Other than a slight sting when he touched it or tried to talk, his lip didn't even hurt. He just didn't understand... What had even _happened_? What had he done to cause Bucky to react with such anger? But surely he hadn't meant to kill him; Bucky would never do that. Maybe if he could figure out what Bucky _had_ been trying to do...well, that was important, wasn't it?

He sat obediently on the edge of the exam table and let Tony fuss over his face. “I'm gonna get Bruce on holo,” Tony said. “I _think_ this is just a first aid thing, but that's kind of the point—I'm not a freaking doctor, and he is.”

Steve nodded. It seemed to hurt less than trying to talk, but he wasn't sure. At least Tony had done something to stop the bleeding.

Tony asked JARVIS to put in the call to Bruce, and while they were waiting for the response he dabbed at Steve's eyebrow—apparently there was a cut there he didn't even remember getting—and asked, “So you forget your safeword or something?”

Steve blinked at him. “What?”

“Your safeword,” Tony repeated. “You know, so you _don't_ actually end up with broken ribs and brain damage.”

Steve stared at him blankly. Maybe Steve really was suffering brain damage, because nothing Tony was saying made sense. Though, that often happened, really. It wasn't exactly a new experience.

Tony looked away, shaking his head. “Didn't they, like, _have_ sex on New Brooklyn? Or were you all thrown together in some backwoods lab?”

Steve looked down, feeling his face heat. He honestly had no idea what a 'safeword' might have to do with sex—or how sex could ever lead to broken ribs or brain damage of all things—but Bucky _had_ kissed him. And not in a way he could construe as platonic either. That was yet another part of this—like pretty much _every single part_ , really—that he didn't understand. He was saved from having to give an answer to Tony's question, though, by Bruce picking up the holo call.

o0o

Winter woke up on the floor of Steve's cabin feeling...fine. Well, fine _physically_ ; he didn't even feel cold. He had no injuries he could detect and no noticeable aftereffects from the ICER. Not that there should have been any. He'd taken double the standard dose, but his body was good at recovery, no doubt more so now that he'd been eating well, sleeping better, and exercising regularly. He was alone, and a quick check proved the door was locked securely from the outside. Okay. That was...good, actually: he was being punished. Finally. It wasn't as personal as what he'd had in mind, but it should be just as effective. Easier for Steve too, no doubt, so that was good as well. He didn't really want Steve to have to do anything that would make him feel guilty. Gods, that man was obnoxiously, beautifully good and kind and _gentle_. But gentle or not, being locked up was still a punishment, and that's what mattered.

He settled himself quietly on the floor within easy view of the door, kneeling with his head bowed. It could be hours or even days before Steve's return, but he could wait.

o0o

The image of Doctor Bruce Banner floated in the infirmary in front of Steve and Tony—Steve kept expecting the image to flicker as holos so often did back in his day, but Stark Tech kept reminding him that he really was in the future. “From what I can see right now,” the doctor said, “and from what JARVIS is telling me, the injuries do seem to be mostly superficial—the most serious being that cracked rib.” He gestured to Steve's side. “But even that should heal quickly with the serum's help...I'd say two weeks, max, but it could even be less than a week with proper diet and enough rest.” He focused his attention on Steve. “But in that time, Steve, you have to be careful; you need to give your body the opportunity to heal.” Letting out a breath, he removed his glasses and ducked his head, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. Looking back up at Tony, he added, “I suppose it's more superstitious than anything, but I'll feel better once I can look at him with my own eyes here in my own lab.”

“Understandable,” Tony assured him. He turned to Steve. “Well, you heard the doctor.”

Steve nodded. He had heard; he was going to be fine—Bucky hadn't been trying to kill him after all. Just...to hurt him. Steve swallowed. “Bruce?”

“Yeah?” He put his glasses back on and looked at Steve.

“Do you...” Steve took a deep breath, wincing at the stab of pain in his side. “I need to know how to help Bucky. I don't—” He reached up to scratch at the hair on the back of his neck, and... _ow_ : apparently moving his arm hurt. Okay then. Sighing, he clasped his hands loosely between his knees. “I don't understand what happened back there.” He nodded towards the door. “And I know psychology isn't exactly your specialty, but you've gotta know more than I do anyway.”

Tony leaned his hip against the exam table, smirking slightly. “You wanna share what led up to this lovers' spat? In the interest of science?”

Steve blushed so hard he was sure his scalp was red under his hair. He couldn't even deny the 'lovers' part of that, could he? He stared at the floor and forced the words out: “He kissed me.”

“Okay...” Tony made a puzzled sound. “And that's not...just...an everyday thing for you two?”

Steve shook his head. It was something that had _never_ happened before, something he'd never expected, never even considered...

“Steve?” That was Bruce's voice. Steve made himself look up at the doctor's holographic face. “Would you be more comfortable talking about this if Tony wasn't here?”

Steve shook his head. “No, it's fine.” Tony knew about this sort of thing and might have some insights. Steve could deal with his teasing. He took a breath and tried to just explain things calmly, ignoring his embarrassment. “Before...that—before the kiss—” He took another breath. He could do this. He had to do this. For Bucky, to help Bucky. “I mentioned how sometimes I expect him to act like he used to, how I forget that so much has changed.” It was a little like reporting to a superior in the army: just state the facts calmly. “He asked me to tell him what to do—said I was his owner. I told him I wasn't going to treat him like a slave, and at first that seemed to upset him—angry, frustrated, tense. But then he looked at me like...like he was trying to figure something out? And that's when he kissed me.” Steve spread his hands helplessly. “I didn't know what to do, how to react to...that. And then he said he wanted to make me happy—I told him he didn't have to, and that's when he got _really_ angry: cursing...called me 'self-righteous'...um, demanded again that I tell him what to do. And then he insisted that I not let him get away with disrespect and that I punish him.” Ducking his head, Steve shrugged his shoulders. “When I told him that wasn't going to happen, he hit me.” Steve let out a shuddering breath. “He demanded I fight back and got angrier when I wouldn't.” He shrugged again and looked from Bruce to Tony. “That's about the point when Rhodey and Happy came in and shot him.”

“With ICERs,” Tony clarified. “He's probably awake already—and before you say anything, Rogers, you're not going anywhere near him right now.” He gave Steve a warning glare. “You have a galaxy-sized blindspot when it comes to him.”

Steve's shoulders slumped involuntarily, and...okay, that _hurt_. He really should stop being surprised by what hurt; it's not like it was the first time he'd cracked a rib, anyway. Just the first time since the serum. But Tony was right; Steve needed some advice before he tried to deal with Bucky again.

Bruce sighed, pushing his dark hair off his forehead. “You're right...this isn't my area of expertise. So I'm not going to offer advice as a medical professional, because I'd really have to read up on this sort of thing a lot more before I could do that with any sort of confidence. But I can offer you some advice as a friend: if he gets violent again, you need to leave the room. Even after your rib's completely healed and everything.” He gestured toward Steve's injury. Sitting forward in his chair, he folded his hands on the desk in front of him and regarded Steve seriously. “It's not at all acceptable for him to treat you that way, and you can't just allow him to take out his anger on you—it's not healthy for either of you.”

Steve nodded. He supposed that made sense that it wouldn't be good for Bucky to hurt his friend. Even the _thought_ of hurting Bucky twisted Steve up inside. “Thanks, Bruce.”

“I agree with Bruce,” Tony said, nodding toward the holo image then looking back at Steve. “I don't want to have to go busting into your cabin to save your sorry ass again; so next time...if there's a next time, you get the hell out of there. Whatever you do, don't just stand there and pretend to be a punching bag.”

At Steve's chastened nod, Tony continued. “Now, let me just see if I've understood what happened—the basics anyway. You invited this guy into your room and—unless one of you slept on the floor, which I highly doubt—your bed, you assured him that even though you technically own him according to some document that he saw you sign off on, you don't see him as a slave and that he was free to do what he liked, and that's the point when he kissed you.” Tony scratched his fingers through his black hair. “I don't want to read too much into this, but it seems to me that he probably _wanted_ to kiss you. Not because you're his owner, but because you're...you.” Tony gestured to all of Steve and muttered something under his breath that sounded like, 'I mean, have you _looked_ at yourself?'

Steve felt himself blush again. He looked down at his hands. “He said he wanted to make me happy.”

“So?” Tony quirked an eyebrow at him. “Do you have any idea how often I say that to people I'm trying to get into bed with or am already in bed with?” He shrugged. “You don't have to read disturbing slavery undertones into everything he says...especially when you insist you don't actually see him as a slave.”

Steve felt something constrict painfully in his chest. He wanted to apologize to Bucky, but he wasn't sure what he'd say, 'Sorry for assuming you saw yourself as a slave'?

“Let's just assume for now,” Tony said, “that he did want to kiss you. His reaction after that makes...a little sense—I mean, blown out of proportion maybe, but rejection can hurt, especially when there's actual feelings involved.”

Steve stared at Tony, eyes wide. “Wait, you think Bucky's in love with me?”

Tony glanced at Bruce then back at Steve. “He could be,” Tony said gently. “Or he could just be attracted to you.”

“Either way,” Bruce added, “he's your friend, so he cares about you, and he might feel as though he's ruined that now.”

o0o

Steve looked from Bruce to Tony with such a helpless expression on his face that Tony was struck with a sudden urge to hug him—but there were probably relatively few divergent universes where that would actually come across as comforting as it was intended.

Steve gripped the edges of the exam table with both hands. “I have to fix this, to make it right.”

Tony shook his head then ran the tips of his thumb and finger in a rough circle around his mouth, smoothing the edges of his goatee. “It's pretty clear to all of us that you don't know _how_.”

“I have to try,” Steve insisted. “He—he can't think I've abandoned him.” Steve was so wonderfully earnest Tony wasn't sure how _anyone_ could know him for any length of time and not be at least a _little_ in love with him. This Barnes guy had known him all his life—poor bastard had never had a chance.

“You need to rest,” Bruce said, gently but firmly.

“You can either sleep here,” Tony said, his voice leaving no room for argument, “or you can sleep in that cabin assigned to Barnes, the one that's never actually been _used_ , since he's been shacking up with you.”

Steve ducked his head, the red of his ears darkening.

“Tony...” There was a warning in Bruce's voice as he gave Tony his best 'don't be an asshole' look, but...what the hell? Barnes had broken one of Steve's _ribs_. And Steve—Steve had apparently broken Barnes' heart. But somehow _Tony_ was the bad guy for giving accurate commentary on the whole mess?

Sighing, Tony ran a hand over his face. “Look, I might have something actually helpful to contribute. You remember those pamphlets the merchant tried to give you? The ones I took because you were just staring blankly? I think that's what Barnes may have been getting at...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do apologize for cutting it off there (I guess it's not technically a cliffhanger, but it must be frustrating all the same). I'll try to update a little earlier next week to make it up to you all.
> 
> This chapter now has fanart! :D  
> "[Like a slave](http://atwojay.deviantart.com/art/Like-a-slave-466799246)," an photo manip by [atwojay](http://atwojay.deviantart.com/) ([EstherA2J](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EstherA2J)).


	5. Shattered Edges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony wants a banana daiquiri (among other things).

Steve did remember the pamphlets, vaguely. Some sort of 'instruction manual' on slavery, nothing in which Steve had _any_ interest. “What about them?” Steve's lips still felt stiff and heavy when he tried to move them. He probably should have just nodded rather than tried to speak.

“Well,” Tony responded. “I glanced over them before chucking them in a drawer, and...” He let out a breath while running one hand through his hair. “There's some pretty effed up stuff in there. About punishment and how it's...important to this whole slavery 'bond'...thing.”

“Capture bonding,” Bruce supplied then looked somewhat abashed when the other two turned to look at his holo image. “It'd be what...the pamphlets are suggesting: an activation—or at least a partial activation—of the capture bonding mechanism, sometimes called 'Stockholm syndrome.'”

“Yeah.” Tony nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. “That's what I figured; it was basically a 'Stockholm Syndrome How To,' with a side of gas-lighting...maybe, you know, I didn't really wanna know.”

“So this is what Bucky's previous owners would have done to him?” A swirling mass of nausea was growing in Steve's stomach.

“Probably.” Tony grimaced.

“But...” Steve was still so confused. “Why would he ask me to do that to him?”

Tony shrugged, grimacing again.

“When people are stressed,” Bruce offered, “we often sort of regress...to an earlier, usually more child-like state.”

Tony smirked, and Bruce shot him a look. Tony held up his hands in surrender. “I didn't say anything.” He grinned. “And you know I'm a huge fan of you in any state, but especially in the more toddler-like one.”

Steve rolled his eyes. Tony's insistence on provoking Bruce was apparently funnier to Tony than to anyone else. It would bother Steve more if Bruce actually seemed to mind, though. Maybe it was a sort of training for Bruce, getting him used to minor irritations, proving to everyone that he could handle it. Or maybe it was mostly just the 'poke it and see what happens' sort of 'science' Bruce and Tony both seemed to enjoy.

Bruce smiled mildly at Tony. “And you know I'm a big fan of you, even though your _only_ state is exactly like a toddler.”

Tony stood up straighter, grinning brilliantly at Bruce and Steve as though he'd won some prize. “But anyway.” He looked back at Bruce. “You were saying...” He gestured for him to go on. “About the regressing.”

Bruce gave Tony a small smile before turning his attention back to Steve. “We often find comfort in things that are familiar, even unhealthy things, things that we wouldn't logically associate with comfort.”

“When you two were in the military together,” Tony cut in. “You were his commanding officer, right?”

Steve nodded. That had come up in the conversation with Bucky, actually.

“So,” Tony continued, “you giving him orders could be a _comfortingly_ familiar thing for him, even outside any effed-up slavery conditioning.”

“I guess...” Steve's orders to the Howlers had been battlefield things, though; not simple day to day instructions. They'd all been pretty good about keeping things clean and orderly and being quiet after light's out, anyway. Steve had never _liked_ giving orders outside combat situations—it just seemed so _petty_ to tell someone else what to do when no one's lives hung in the balance.

Bruce sighed, rubbing at his forehead. “Since he's asked you to tell him what to do, Steve, you might...consider it. It could be helpful to him in some way; sometimes people find a sense of freedom in unquestioning obedience, as paradoxical as that sounds.”

Okay then. Steve could breathe a bit easier. He had some ideas now, some suggestions of things that might help Bucky. He'd messed things up pretty badly, but maybe now he could start to fix them.

But not until after he'd gotten a proper night's sleep, as both Tony and Bruce adamantly insisted.

“I'll sleep in Bucky's cabin,” Steve conceded. It was more private than the infirmary, and the bed was bigger.

They said goodnight to Bruce and thanked him for his help, then Tony walked with him to Bucky's unused cabin despite Steve being quite sure he could walk that far alone; it was his rib that was broken—or, just _cracked,_ actually—not his leg.

“So,” Tony said as they reached the door of the cabin. “You were pretty...unprepared for when Barnes kissed you.”

Sighing, Steve nodded. 'Unprepared' was a good word for it.

Tilting his head, Tony furrowed his brow slightly. “So...you'd never thought about it?”

Thought about kissing Bucky? Steve shook his head, looking at the floor then back up at Tony. “No; I hadn't.”

“Really.” Tony narrowed his eyes slightly. “Huh.”

Steve let out a soft, exasperated sigh. “Why? Is that normal or something to just—to think about kissing your best friend?”

Tony shrugged. “I don't know about 'normal,' but...”

If he wasn't sure it would hurt badly enough that he couldn't suppress a wince, Steve would have folded his arms. “So you—that's something you do?”

Tony smiled lopsidedly. “I don't usually stop at just thinking about kissing.”

Steve squeezed his eyes shut. Okay, fine. Tony was a total pervert; everyone who knew him knew that. He opened his eyes again but still couldn't look directly at Tony. “But...your oldest friend?”

Tony grinned. “What you have to understand, Rogers, is that if I've met someone, I've pretty much _thought about it_.” He shrugged, pushing his hands into his pockets. “Doesn't mean I'd actually want to _do_ it, but—that's part of the point of thinking about it: to decide if I'd want to.”

It really shouldn't have bothered Steve, because what went on inside Tony's head was his own business and it wasn't hurting anyone. It's just that... Tony had basically told him, 'I've thought about having sex with you,' and that was...well, it was disturbing, and not something Steve himself wanted to think about _ever_. And he really didn't want to know what Tony had decided about if he'd want to, but he had a feeling he already knew the answer to that, and that was another thing he didn't ever want to think about. But it also meant that Tony had thought about having sex with _Bucky_. And _that_ was so much more disturbing. He took some quiet breaths through his nose and tried  _not_  to think about Tony thinking about...anything. He turned toward the cabin door. “Goodnight, Tony.”

He could hear the unrepentant smile in Tony's voice as he replied, “Goodnight, Steve.”

The cabin door closed behind him, and Steve let out a relieved breath, closing his eyes once again. Dealing with Tony was so exhausting sometimes...okay, most of the time.

As he laid down—carefully—on the all too empty bed, Steve couldn't help worrying about Bucky: if he was okay, if he was still angry, if he was scared or sad. He sighed. “JARVIS?”

“Something I can do for you, Captain Rogers?” The AI's response was polite and prompt.

“Is...” He licked his lips gingerly, wincing slightly at the sting. “Is Bucky...is he all right?” JARVIS didn't make a habit of monitoring people too closely, but it had been obvious—once Steve's head had cleared enough to think—that JARVIS had been the one to alert the others to the incident earlier, no doubt because Steve was sustaining injuries.

“Sergeant Barnes' vitals are all well within expected parameters.”

Steve let out a relieved breath. “Good...that's good.” After a pause he added, “If that changes...if he seems distressed, please let me know. Even if I'm asleep, I want you to wake me up.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Thanks.” Steve relaxed back against the pillow, closing his eyes. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to sleep, even with the mild sedative and painkillers Tony had given him—compounds Bruce had designed in hopes they would work _with_ his serum-enhanced physiology rather than fighting uselessly against it. But he might as well rest and let his body—and the serum—do their work.

o0o

Winter's knees had gone numb from his weight pressing them to the floor and all the muscles in his legs were cramped from staying so long in one position. His mouth was dry, past the point of being uncomfortable. There was water in the taps and there were sports drinks in the small fridge—Steve had told him he could have anything he wanted from the fridge, but that was before he earned this punishment.

Perhaps this was a test to see how obedient he would be—no doubt the AI was watching him, even recording him. Steve could even be watching him on a screen or holo in another part of the ship. That thought was comforting. _I'm being good for you, Steve_ , he thought.

He kept his eyes closed and focused on his breathing. It was soothingly familiar just to kneel and wait.

As the hours passed, the slight discomfort in his bladder would grow into pain, but he could deal with pain, and if it became urgent, he'd use the bathroom rather than soil Steve's carpet. But Steve might return before then. The thought of Steve's return was a warm one, a bright hope floating before him, a goal he could achieve if only he waited.

o0o

“Captain Rogers?” JARVIS' calm voice cut through the fog of Steve's decidedly less than restful sleep.

He instinctively rolled onto his side to push himself up then hissed at the pain and clutched protectively at his side only to realize that he'd pulled his mouth into a grimace that tugged at the tender still-healing parts of his lips. “Ow.” He allowed himself a few quick pants to get past the pain before stubbornly—but more carefully—rolling into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. “What is it, JARVIS?”

“Sergeant Barnes, sir,” the AI responded. “It appears he has not moved from his position in the past twelve hours, and he is both becoming dehydrated and sorely in need of relieving himself.”

“Is he unconscious?” Even in the average human, an ICER should have worn off by _now_. Steve stretched his arms experimentally, frowning at the annoying ache from his injured rib.

“No, sir; he has been conscious since approximately ten minutes after yourself, Mister Stark, Mister Rhodes, and Mister Hogan left your cabin.”

What the heck could Bucky be doing in the same spot for _twelv_ _e_ hours if he wasn't sleeping? “Thank you for alerting me, JARVIS.” Steve was already heading for the door; it wouldn't take him long to get to his own cabin, to get to Bucky.

“You are very welcome, sir.”

o0o

Winter was in pain, but that was good. He'd earned his pain, deserved it and far worse. He focused on the pain, rolling the distinctive sharpness of it over in his mind as he might turn a shard of broken glass in his hand to admire the beauty of the shattered edges.

It had been a long time—but not a distressingly long time—that he'd been alone, locked away for his unacceptable behaviour. He had barely even begun to feel hungry, and what he did feel was mostly due to lack of sleep rather than lack of food. That, and having become too used to eating regularly.

The door opened with a soft whooshing sound, and Winter opened his eyes to see Steve's unmistakable form standing in the doorway. Winter's ability to suppress the joyful grin that wanted to break out on his face was helped by the very real physical pain he was feeling. The relief at seeing his Mast—wait, was Steve his Master already? He was unsure, and that in and of itself was strange; he _should_ be sure of something like that. But his mind had _almost_ supplied the title instinctively. Had, actually, until his own thoughts had interrupted.

“On your feet, Sergeant.” Steve's voice was quiet, but was filled with an edge of command that made Winter shiver as he immediately moved to obey. The 'Sergeant' thing was a bit unexpected, since Steve had always called him 'Bucky' before, but apparently Bucky had been a Sergeant when he and Steve were in the army together. And really, Steve could call him anything he wanted. Steve fired off a quick series of further commands: Winter was to use the toilet, take a shower, and clean his clothes while he was at it.

The pain in his body—his muscles and joints shrieking as he moved them after keeping still so long, the blood rushing back into the flesh where his knees had been pressed to the floor holding nearly all of his weight—was unimportant compared to the heady idea that Steve was finally accepting his role and giving Winter the orders he needed.

o0o

As the bathroom door closed behind Bucky, Steve sank down onto the edge of the bed, wincing as his rib protested the change in position. Bruce had said something about another dose of painkillers in the morning, but the pain wasn't important. He focused on his breathing to calm himself. The image of Bucky as he'd been when Steve opened the door threatened to overwhelm him: Bucky had been kneeling, head bowed, the picture of a patient slave awaiting his Master's will. JARVIS had said Bucky hadn't moved from that position for _twelve hours_. Steve felt nausea welling up, clawing at the back of his throat with strangling, insidious fingers. He should have come back sooner; should have insisted against Tony, against everyone—it had been a mistake to leave Bucky alone.

If Steve had been there, at least he could have told Bucky to sleep.

o0o

When Winter got out of the shower—Steve had wanted him clean, so he'd been careful to remove all the traces of dried blood from the crevices of his metal hand, trying not to think too much about how it was Steve's blood other than to remind himself that he'd earned his punishment through blatant, inexcusable disrespect—he paused for a moment considering his clothing. Steve hadn't said if he should put his clothes back on once both he and they were clean. Winter had been so thrilled at Steve giving him orders that he hadn't noticed the lack of certain ones. He toyed with the corner of the shirt, rubbing the soft material between his metal thumb and forefinger. He risked disappointing or even offending Steve either way, but Steve had always wanted him clothed before—even insisting on a shirt before they left the market—and that decided it. His partially-recovered joints and muscles protested as he moved them to pull on the clothes, but the pain would have been worse if it wasn't just sweatpants and a t-shirt.

Finally, he pushed his fingers through his wet hair to straighten it, glancing at himself in the mirror. His stubble was getting thick, flirting with the idea of becoming a full beard—maybe he should shave soon. Maybe Steve would tell him to shave soon; his old Master had always told him when to shave.

o0o

“Bruce,” Tony lamented, pressing one hand over his eyes as he sprawled on his couch, loose bathrobe open over his pyjamas, “I don't know what to _do_ with this guy.” He wasn't nearly drunk enough to deal with this, but it was still morning, so how could he be _expected_ to be?

“'This guy' being Steve?” Bruce asked.

“Yes, Steve—who else?” Tony rolled his eyes and took a sip of his drink. “He spends the night alone like we tell him—fine, okay, good. But then he's up and back in the cabin with Barnes before I know what's going on, and it turns out JARVIS, the _traitor_ —” He glared up at the ceiling. “—agreed to wake him up if Barnes became 'distressed.'”

Bruce frowned. “Distressed?”

“Yeah.” Tony gestured with his half-full tumbler, the ice making soft tinkling sounds against the glass. “Apparently he was just sitting there in the same spot all damn night, and JARVIS was concerned he was getting dehydrated, but instead of just telling Barnes to drink some damn water, my stupid AI decides to actually wake the injured Boy Scout up to go play nanny to the psycho who injured him in the first place.”

“But...” Bruce narrowed his eyes. “You said 'agreed,' that JARVIS 'agreed' to wake Steve up—so Steve asked JARVIS to do that?”

“Because Steve is a freaking martyr, yes.” Tony sat up and tapped his fingers against the edge of his glass. “No, JARVIS isn't just thinking of these horrifying things on his own, thank all the gods. I'd really have to reprogram him then.”

Bruce sighed. “Steve's an adult, Tony...”

Tony snorted. He took a swallow of his drink. “We're all supposed to be adults, Bruce—why do none of us ever seem to act like it? And, why don't we ever have bananas? I would _love_ a banana daiquiri right now.”

“Bananas...” Bruce began.

But Tony didn't let him finish, waving his hand dismissively. Trust Bruce to try to answer a rhetorical question. “Very particular conditions for cultivation, stupidly difficult to grow on space stations, don't transport well—taste _disgusting_ if dried, and are only good for baking if frozen...I know.” He shot Bruce a pointed look. “They're almost as bad as avocados, but it's not guacamole I'm craving.” He threw back the rest of his drink and flopped back on the couch, looking up at the ceiling. “JARVIS, where can I get bananas? _Please_ tell me it's somewhere between here and Avenger Tower.”

“Did you still need me?” Bruce asked. “Because I've got real work I could be doing...”

“Sure, go 'work.'” He wrinkled his nose, waving Bruce off. “Do you want me to bring you some bananas if they're not all brown and mushy by the time we get there?”

Bruce sighed, impatient. “Sure, if you want.”

Tony turned his head to regard his friend. “I hope you appreciate all I do for you.”

Bruce shook his head, his smile reluctantly fond. “You know I do.” He ended the call.

“Mister Stark?” JARVIS said, all politeness, having waited until Bruce and Tony were done their conversation. “There is a port currently selling fresh bananas that would be only a slight deviation from our current course.”

“Perfect.” Tony grinned. Maybe this day, despite how it had begun, wasn't entirely terrible after all. “Lay in a course for that port.” Setting his empty glass on the edge of his coffee table, Tony added quietly to himself, “Banana daiquiris, here we come.”

o0o

Bucky re-emerged from the bathroom, damp hair falling in his face and posture hesitant. Was he still expecting to be punished? Steve sighed. “Come here, Bucky.”

Bucky's bearing relaxed somewhat as he approached, but he paused again, unsure, when he reached Steve.

“Sit.” Steve indicated the bed beside him.

Bucky sat. Ever since Steve found him in that cage, Bucky had been quiet—far more quiet than Steve ever remembered him being—but his silence was especially unnerving after the violence of the previous day.

Steve hadn't thought to order him to drink anything, to get a drink of water while he was in the bathroom. Damn; that probably meant he _hadn't_. “Are you thirsty?”

Bucky nodded.

“There's juice and sports drinks in the fridge.” Steve nodded his head towards the kitchenette. “Grab one for yourself and one for me. Please.”

Bucky rose and moved to obey, grabbing the first sports drink and then taking far longer to select a bottle of juice—finally settling on pomegranate-blueberry-açaí. When he returned to Steve, he presented him with the juice then hesitated briefly before reclaiming his spot on the bed.

“Thank you.” Steve gave him a small smile, twisting the lid off the top of the bottle and taking a swallow. It was cold, and the vibrant flavour was invigorating as it washed over his tongue. He nodded to the still unopened bottle in Bucky's hands. “Go ahead. Drink.”

Bucky uncapped the bottle and obeyed. And didn't stop obeying even as the bottle rapidly emptied.

“Okay, okay.” Steve laughed a little awkwardly. Sure, Bucky was thirsty, but it couldn't be healthy to drink that fast. “Take a breath once in a while.” If this was how Bucky wanted to do things—following orders like an overly-literal robot—it was going to be _exhausting_ for Steve.

Bucky moved the bottle from his lips and regarded Steve, face blank.

“Look, Buck...” Steve carefully rolled his shoulders, wincing only slightly at the pain in his side. “I can do this—giving you orders, like you wanted—I can, if that helps you, if that's what you need right now.” He sighed. “But please...if there's something you just _want_ to do, you don't need to wait for me to tell you, okay? And if I tell you to do something and you don't want to do it, you don't _have_ to obey me either.”

Bucky lowered the half-empty bottle to rest its bottom on his thigh, still watching Steve silently.

Steve ran his hand over his mouth, forgetting his still healing lip. He frowned down at his hand; at least he didn't seem to be bleeding. “You can talk, too, if you want,” he offered. Was it his fault that Bucky wasn't speaking? Had he made him so uncomfortable by rejecting his kiss? He sighed and laid his hand gently on Bucky's wrist. “Please, Bucky; if you want to say something, please say it.”

Bucky swallowed. “I'm sorry.” His voice was quiet and slightly rough. “It doesn't change anything, but I am.”

Steve smiled, awkward and relieved all at once. He gave Bucky's wrist a squeeze. “I'm sorry too, Buck.”

Bucky's eyes flew to meet his, startled. Then he shook his head, pressing his lips into a grim line. “Don't be.”

Steve tried to smile as he felt a pang of sadness in his chest. He turned his juice bottle in his hands, staring at the purple label as the white lettering blurred before his eyes. He didn't know how not to be sorry. Not when all of this was his fault. He sighed and looked back at Bucky. “I messed everything up pretty bad, Buck.”

Bucky shook his head. “Things are better now.”

Steve managed a smile then. At least he was starting to fix things, to help Bucky. “This juice is one of my favourites.” He tilted the bottle in his hand. “It's supposed to be really healthy, but I mostly like the taste—have you ever tried it?” Bucky shook his head, so Steve offered him the bottle and Bucky took it with his flesh hand, keeping his own drink in his metal one. “Go on.” Steve gave him an encouraging smile.

Bucky took a careful sip, his expression registering surprise. “That is very good. Thank you.”

Steve smiled. “I'm glad you like it.” He let out a breath, feeling tension leave his body in a relieved rush. Things _were_ better, getting better.


	6. Wanting More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are canned sardines, a text conversation with Bruce, and a port Tony nicknames 'bananas.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically totally irrelevant to the story, but... Happy 96th birthday, Steve! :)

When Winter handed the bottle of juice back to Steve, their fingers brushed momentarily. And completely accidentally, because Winter certainly hadn't intended it, and the chances of _Steve_ actually intending something like that were probably worse than a billion to one. Still, the contact sent a thrill through Winter and he froze for a moment with his hand hanging stupidly in the air before he managed to force it down to rest against his thigh. Mercifully, Steve didn't seem to notice, wasn't even looking at Winter anymore.

It was such an intimate thing, though, drinking from Steve's beverage—much like being fed a portion of their Master's own food, it was something slaves were given to reward good behaviour and reinforce their submissive position. Winter's behaviour certainly didn't warrant any sort of reward, and Steve—being the gloriously ignorant paragon of righteousness that he was—no doubt had not even the slightest idea what it meant, what it would mean to his slave. But maybe that didn't matter. Because _Winter_ knew what it meant.

And even Steve agreed things were better now that they were properly in the defined roles. He hadn't voiced his agreement aloud, but his smile had been real and filled with relief. He'd just needed a little reassurance, needed to know he was a good person, a good owner.

Steve took a sip of the juice, lips touching that same glass rim that still held traces of Winter's saliva, and Winter couldn't tear his eyes away. But as Steve lowered his arm, he winced, free hand moving instinctively and protectively to his ribs. To where Winter had injured him.

 _All_ of Winter's ribs may as well have cracked in that moment under his crushing guilt. There was no way he'd been punished enough for what he'd done. “I cracked your rib.” He hadn't quite meant to say that aloud.

Steve flashed him a quick pained smile. “I heal up fast. Doctor said it shouldn't take more than a few days if I get enough rest and eat right.”

Well, that was...good. A normal person's rib would take four to six _weeks_ to heal. But what should Steve eat to encourage a speedy recovery? Winter's old Master had given him vitamin supplements when he'd needed them: calcium and vitamin D for broken bones, iron and vitamin C for blood-loss. It was supposedly healthier to get the needed nutrients from natural foods, though. And undoubtedly more pleasant. “What should you eat?” Winter found himself asking, because he wanted to help—Steve was in no condition to cook, shouldn't even be getting up to grab anything.

“There's...” Steve furrowed his brow slightly. “I've got some canned sardines in the cupboard—they're good for vitamin D—some cheese in the fridge. Those are pretty tasty together on crackers.” He grinned, self-deprecating. “Not exactly the most traditional of breakfasts, but it must be almost lunchtime now anyway.” After a pause during which Winter pondered if he should just get up and get the food—if that counted as an order—Steve added, “Could you get those for—for both of us?”

Trust Steve to fall back into phrasing his orders like requests. At least it was a clear request. “Of course.” Winter allowed himself a small self-satisfied smile as he stood to obey.

Steve—very politely—walked him through the simple food prep, the orders giving Winter a soothing sense of purpose, of accomplishment. They'd only need one plate, it seemed. They'd share. Easier, when eating while seated on the bed.

Since it hurt for Steve to move his arms, Winter held the first cracker up for him, quirking one eyebrow. It was a blatant subversion of convention, a slave offering this...but Steve just laughed softly and accepted, lower lip brushing the tip of Winter's second finger for an instant as he took the food into his mouth.

This wasn't even much of a gamble, really; Steve had made it clear just how far Winter would need to push to be punished, how fully and grossly Winter would need to disrespect him.

Steve snagged a second cracker for himself, grinning. “I can feed myself, you know.”

Winter's eyes unfocused and he looked beyond the present into the past. Skinny, sweat-soaked Steve was pressing his lips together in an irritated frown as he tried to push himself upright against the simple metal headboard. 'I can feed myself,' he snapped, blue eyes flashing above dusky purple-grey hollows. His voice was rough, his breathing laboured. His sweat-damp hands shook as they twisted in the worn sheet.

Winter blinked, eyes refocusing on Steve's large hand as it paused near the plate, somehow still so effortlessly capable in its hesitance. It was surprising, actually, how little Steve's hands had changed while the rest of him morphed from David to Goliath. A little thicker now, but the same shape, the same long artist's fingers.

“Buck?” Steve's voice.

Winter looked up, meeting his questioning blue eyes. “The shipment was delayed—raiders, they said. You tried to ration your medicine, only use it when absolutely needed, but then you got real sick.” He paused, sorting out the newly-discovered memories. “We had an onion, a carrot, some corn, some of those packets of yellow salt and dry noodles. I made you soup.” He looked away. “I'd wanted to steal a ship—there was medicine out there, plenty of it on the core worlds, so much no one could ever miss what you'd need to last a full year. I didn't know how long I'd take, or if I'd get caught. It almost seemed worth it. But I couldn't make myself leave you. It was hard enough to leave that damned room. With...” He shuddered. “You really needed the medicine, Steve. There was so little I could do for you.” His eyes snapped back to Steve's. “Why the hell didn't you have anyone else?”

Steve sighed, setting the cracker back down on the edge of the plate. “It was just you and me after my Ma died.”

“ _You_ could have died,” Winter insisted, voice hard. “What kind of effed up civilization expects a couple of _kids_ to just take care of each other?”

“Hey.” Steve reached for him, encircling his flesh wrist with strong, capable fingers. “I got better, we got through it. I'm okay.”

That really wasn't the _point_. Winter willed away the tears that welled behind his eyes, hot and thick like lava. Maybe the raiders just sold the medicine. Maybe they threw it away because they'd been after something else entirely. The raiders might even have had some poor, sick kid wheezing away in a bed, trembling like the last yellow leaf clinging to an autumn branch and stubbornly trying to feed himself while the spoon slipped in his sweat-slick hands. It wouldn't have mattered, not to a couple of scared kids on New Brooklyn, trying to prove to themselves and each other that they really weren't scared, that they could handle it, damn it, that adult life really wasn't so hard, that they didn't need anyone else. Because that was easier than accepting the fact that no one would offer them help anyway, and the only ones who'd be willing to help were those who didn't have anything to offer—because they were stuck there too on that horrid little rock trying to keep going day after day when the damn medical shipment was delayed, so no one had what they needed.

Winter let out a shaky breath. Steve's hand about his wrist was warm, comforting.

“I don't think you ever told me about the ship,” Steve said, a hint of hopeful playfulness in his smile, “about wanting to steal it and turn pirate yourself.”

Winter snorted. “You wouldn't have approved.”

Steve's smile was lopsided. “I would have told you to stop being such an idiot, that you would have got caught.” Steve sighed, looking down. His eyes were serious when he met Winter's gaze once more. “You would have, too; the ships docked on New Brooklyn were old, slow, no good for much, really. And I...” He looked away. He swallowed and gave Winter's wrist a squeeze, his thumb stroking across the back of Winter's hand. His voice was roughened when he spoke again. “I'm glad you stayed with me.”

o0o

Steve looked up, and Bucky smiled at him, a little hesitant and a little crooked, and something in his eyes looked so damn much like the Bucky he'd been that Steve could almost forget—again—that so much had changed.

Steve shook his head a bit, trying to clear it. “Here.” He picked a cracker up and held it out to Bucky. “You need to eat too.”

Bucky swallowed nervously and there was a flash of something like a question in his eyes, but he took the cracker and ate it. Once he'd finished chewing and chased the food with a swallow of his drink, he said, “Thanks.”

“Hey.” Steve shrugged. “You did all the work.”

Between the two of them they finished the food, though Bucky insisted that Steve eat most of it because he was the one who needed vitamin D and calcium. Then Bucky put the plate in the dish cleaner and brought back some protein bars from the cupboard. All the while he kept eyeing Steve with a sort of wary mixture of concern and guilt, and Steve was about ready to try _anything_ to get him to stop looking at him like that.

But what Bucky needed most urgently was sleep. A good four hours if possible to make up for the missed night. And Steve honestly couldn't say he felt fully-rested himself. He wasn't sure if he should try ordering him to sleep—somehow that didn't seem fair, since sleeping wasn't usually a conscious decision people made.

As Bucky deposited their empty drink bottles for recycling, Steve carefully laid himself out on his side of the bed, not bothering with the covers. It's not like his cabin was ever cold. “For the longest time after the cryo, I could barely sleep at all,” he said conversationally. He'd found a reasonably comfortable position and his rib was quieting after its grumpy protests to his moving. “But right now, I really feel like I could use a nap.” He glanced over at where Bucky stood, watching him uncertainly. “Feel like keeping me company, Buck?”

Bucky nodded and joined him—the care with which he climbed onto his side of the bed without jostling Steve's injury was truly impressive. Steve felt as though he should thank him somehow or at least acknowledge it, but how would one say, 'Thanks for not further hurting the rib you cracked,' to his best friend without sounding stupid?

Smiling at Bucky, Steve caught his flesh hand in a warm grip. “Sleep well, Bucky.”

o0o

Winter tried to obey the order, but his mind wouldn't shut the hell up. He had not expected to be welcome back in Steve's bed, certainly not so soon after his misbehaviour. Perhaps not _ever_ after that terribly misjudged kiss. And yet there he was, laid out on his side of the bed as though nothing had changed, hand-in-hand with the most confusingly wonderful and wonderfully confusing man in the universe.

After a while, his exhaustion managed to overpower his confused thoughts and he slipped into unconsciousness.

o0o

Steve didn't get much of a nap, since every time he managed to drift off, he awoke again with a quiet, alarmed gasp and a full-body start that had his rib grumbling loudly that he was supposed to be _napping_ here, not pretending he was being repeatedly shocked with electricity. Bucky was here and safe and _okay_ , so if Steve's body could just damn well _relax_ , that'd be nice.

Though it was his rib that seemed to be waking him each time, so the damn thing was just being intentionally obnoxious.

Finally, with a sigh, Steve pulled out his Stark Phone and unlocked the screen. He made sure all forms of alert were silenced so it wouldn't wake Bucky and sent a message to Bruce updating him about his own recovery and reporting on the apparently very mild effects of the sedative. He couldn't be sure if the painkiller had done anything, so he was just honest about that.

The message didn't really require a response, and no doubt Bruce was busy. After a few minutes, Steve sent Bruce another message:

_I've been trying the orders thing with Bucky like you suggested. Not sure I'm any good at it, but it seems to be helping._

He didn't have to wait long for Bruce's reply:

_That's good. Just be careful, ok? Remember what I said about leaving the room if he gets violent._

Steve did remember, but it wasn't as if Bucky was showing any signs of a repeat performance. He had been upset by the memory when they were eating, but that was understandable—and he'd only raised his voice a little. It was actually a very _Bucky_ sort of reaction, so it must be a good sign. Steve typed his response carefully—it was common to use shortcuts when typing on phones, but it wasn't really that much work to use actual sentences when the phone suggested most words, practically writing it for him:

_He apologized for what happened. He seems genuinely remorseful, guilty even._

They hadn't had these sorts of phones on New Brooklyn, so Steve had grown up typing messages on a desktop computer when he'd had reason to type messages at all.

Bruce's reply was almost instantaneous:

_Is that supposed to make me feel better?_

Steve frowned. Shouldn't it?

Before Steve could decide how to respond, Bruce sent another message:

_Just be careful. I know you're durable and heal fast, but still. Be careful._

Steve blew out a breath between his lips. He was nearly one-hundred percent sure that he'd only need to tell Bucky to stop, and Bucky would stop; he wouldn't have to do anything else, much less leave the room. Thinking back over the incident, he was pretty sure he'd never even asked Bucky to stop hitting him, which was pretty stupid in hindsight, actually, since it very likely would have worked...and Bucky had been outright demanding to be told what to do. Bucky was only too eager to obey him. That felt wrong still, unsettling, like Steve was taking Bucky's freedom away—Steve could try to tell himself it was just like when they were in the army together when he was Bucky's CO; he just couldn't quite make himself believe it. But at the same time, he couldn't deny that knowing Bucky would obey him was somewhat reassuring.

Another message from Bruce interrupted his thoughts:

_Have you talked to him about the kiss?_

Steve sighed and reluctantly typed his response:

_No. I take it that's something I should do?_

Bruce's reply came all too quickly:

_Yeah. Probably. It's probably better than pretending it never happened._

Well, damn. Pretending it never happened had been Steve's tentative plan.

o0o

When Winter woke, Steve was already awake, watching him and smiling softly, still laying on his side as he had been when Winter had fallen asleep. Winter waking to an already conscious Steve was new, since Winter woke first each morning—but despite Steve's injury, maybe Winter had still needed this nap more for having not slept all night. He yawned and blinked and Steve's smile grew fonder, gentle little crinkles appearing around his eyes as he asked, “Feelin' better?

And Winter really _was_ feeling better, so he nodded. “Much.”

Steve grinned. “How about we agree that stayin' up all night is generally a bad idea?”

Winter nodded. “Sure.” Steve had a silly way of giving him a standing order to get some sleep each night, but Winter still understood.

Steve reached out and brushed the side of Winter's chin with his knuckles. “You gonna get rid of this scruff sometime, Buck? Pretty soon, you'll look like Thor. Well, a darker-haired Thor.”

Winter had no idea who Thor was, but...it seemed Steve wanted him to shave. Maybe. He wasn't being overly clear about his preference. Had been quite evasive when the subject of Winter shaving had come up before. He regarded Steve carefully, trying to decipher any clues that might be hiding in that open, honest, thoroughly gorgeous face. One thing Steve had wanted from the start, though, was Winter's opinions on things.

He was about to open his mouth to give an answer, to say he might as well shave because the beard was itchy anyway, when Steve spoke again. “I've mentioned it before, but I have a razor you can use. If you want.”

“Yeah.” Winter flashed him a wry smile. “That is something I want.”

o0o

Winter found the razor in the drawer under the counter in the bathroom just where Steve said it would be.

“Do you know how to use it?” Steve called from the bed where he was still—mercifully—resting. “I can help you if you need it...”

Turning to look back at Steve through the open door, Winter shook his head, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I can figure it out.” It was a rather modern contraption, but not too different from the last one Winter had used. “Besides, you've got the instructions here in the drawer, and I do know how to read.” It felt wrong to talk to his owner like this, insecure little bursts of tension crawling spider-like over his skin in warning. But it somehow felt right to talk to Steve like this.

o0o

When Bucky returned from the bathroom clean-shaven, Steve couldn't help staring. His hair was too long still, but he just looked so much more like his former self. It was a little like looking into the past, a little like he'd woken up to find these past lonely years had just been a dream. It was probably a good thing Bucky's hair was still so long; Steve needed _some_ sort of reminder as over-eager parts of his mind tried to dive headlong into the illusion of a safer, familiar past.

Bucky rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck self-consciously. “How do I look?”

Steve smiled warmly. “You look great, Buck.”

Bucky smiled as well, ducking his head so his long hair fell to partially obscure his face. “Thanks.” Pausing by the bed he asked almost casually, “Did you need anything?”

Steve tried to convey the idea of a shrug with the smallest twitch of his shoulders. It wasn't so much that he minded the pain when his rib protested his movements, but Bucky always looked so very concerned and so very guilty whenever he saw Steve wince. “We should probably head down to the mess and grab some dinner at some point—can't live off the junk I have here indefinitely.” But he really wasn't in the mood to walk anywhere at the moment. He wouldn't want Bucky to go hungry on his account, though. Bucky had done enough of that back before the serum, back when they never had enough and he would sometimes lie right to his face with a careless shrug and a charming smile, claiming he'd already eaten or that he wasn't hungry or—probably the most convincing lie for being mostly true—that he simply couldn't stomach the awful freeze-dried rations, but _Steve_ , Steve should treat them like medicine and choke them down because Steve _needed_ to eat. As if Bucky didn't need to eat. “Are you hungry?”

Bucky shrugged. “Not really. Not yet.”

“I've got some apple sauce, some other canned fruit...and dried fruit...” Steve tried to remember what all he had in his kitchenette—surely Bucky could go look, even just choose something for himself, but he'd probably just grab the first thing he saw. Which _was_ technically a choice, just not a very well-considered one. “I mean, if you're hungry.” Steve really didn't want to seem like he was asking Bucky to bring him food. Again.

Bucky cocked his head to one side. “Are you?”

Steve made a soft, frustrated sound. “Not now; I'm fine.” He eyed Bucky where he was still standing by the bed as though awaiting his next order. Which he probably was. “Can you please sit or lie down or something?”

Nodding, Bucky climbed over Steve once again—and again, so very carefully—to reclaim his spot on the bed beside Steve.

As they lay together quietly, Steve wondered if maybe he should bring up the kiss, wondered if it was a good time to have that conversation. If it ever could be a good time.

They were probably both too tired to have a proper discussion, though. It would be better to talk once they'd had some more time to rest and recuperate. Probably.

o0o

As the Stark 1 approached the port—it had some unimportant actual name, but Tony had just flagged it as 'bananas' in his head—Tony had JARVIS inform everyone on board about their stopover: the local 'amenities' and the estimated time of departure. Not that he would ever leave anyone behind, but he didn't relish the idea of searching through a maze of garish market stalls and dingy dive-bars for anyone either. And not that he had many on board he would expect to be less than punctual, except for Barnes possibly, but assuming he even left the ship—which seemed unlikely—he'd no doubt need several crowbars, the Jaws of Life, and a couple kilos of C4 to pry him off of Rogers' side. And the only times Rogers was ever less than punctual was when he got it into his head to pick a fight with entire gangs of over-confident assholes.

On second thought, Tony really hoped Steve just stayed on board for this stopover. That'd be safer for everyone. Especially with that cracked rib that hadn't yet had time to fully heal.

Speaking of the supersoldiers, he'd caught them feeding each other orange sections in the mess the other day—there had most probably been some intentional or unintentional brushing of fingertips against lips, though Tony hadn't actually stood there like a pervy weirdo and _watched_. Not that either one had acted like they'd been 'caught' doing anything the slightest bit out of the ordinary, and Tony himself had managed to pretend like that was in fact a totally normal thing for recently-defrosted old dudes to be doing in a semi-public place, so kudos to Tony. Rhodey should be proud of him or something.

Not that he'd actually told anyone about it. So kudos again?

But it was just depressing, really. Whatever action they were totally _not_ having was so much sexier than anything Tony had managed to get in weeks. Maybe longer. Maybe a lot longer.

Tony scrubbed his fingers through his hair and sighed. He really needed to get back to Avenger Tower where he had his own private kitchen, his own private gym, his own private _everything_ , so he wouldn't have to keep running into the most sickeningly, inescapably in love not-actually-a-couple in the known universe.

Not that Tony really had any proof that they weren't, you know, 'actually a couple' now. Maybe Steve had managed to get past that whole 'he's my oldest friend so it's icky to think about him _that_ way' thing and was jumping his bones. Or, probably more likely, letting Barnes jump his bones. But realistically, with Steve's injured rib, any configuration of 'jumping' and 'bones' was kinda not the best idea. At least not for a few more days. And Tony didn't think he could stand seeing Rogers and Barnes any _more_ nauseatingly blissful, so if the gods were at all merciful, they'd all be back at the Tower by the time _that_ actually did become advisable.

But first: bananas.

And any other fresh fruit the port might have at a decent price. He had a whole space station full of people to feed after all, and the population always seemed to be growing.

o0o

Winter turned to look at Steve where he lay beside him on the bed. They had done very little else these past two days—just lying there together, focused on Steve's Stark Phone more often than not. They watched holos and vids, or Steve would read aloud while Winter listened. It had been a surreal realization that Tony, Steve's friend Tony, the captain of the Stark 1 and the guy who'd bought Winter as a present for Steve, was the Tony Stark for whom the currently unrivaled Stark Phone was named.

Steve wasn't exactly up to lifting weights yet: still working on gentle stretching, something Winter would have enjoyed watching far more if it weren't for Steve's occasional winces and the ever-present knowledge that his pain was entirely Winter's fault.

“Did you want to go? See the port?” Winter asked. Somehow, asking questions like this, like he had the right, came easier to Winter now. Perhaps because Steve had made it so very clear that he wanted Winter to speak to him: 'if you want to say something, please say it,' was polite, but it was an order. A somewhat complicated order, since it required Winter to know what he wanted, but...he was getting better at that.

And it's not like Winter had to fear punishment—not unless he was planning on breaking _another_ of Steve's ribs.

Steve shrugged, and thankfully didn't wince—either he was healing or he was getting better at suppressing his reactions. Probably both, actually. “If you want to, we can.”

Winter grinned, shaking his head where it lay against the pillow. “Sometimes I'd like to know what _you_ want, Steve.”

Steve chuckled, shaking his own head. “It really doesn't matter to me, but I guess I'd rather stay here.” He smiled lopsidedly. “Not much chance of me finding anything like what I found in the last market, so...” Steve shrugged again, grinning, a bit self-conscious and a bit playful and entirely gorgeous. His face grew more serious and his hand found Winter's, giving it a squeeze. “I've got everything I need right here.”

The thrill of Steve's words burned brightly in Winter's chest: Steve _valued_ him. Valued him so highly that he had no desire to look for anything else. Winter suddenly wanted to kiss him again, but he quickly tamped that desire down—Steve hadn't wanted that, didn't want that. Steve was always so polite with his orders: 'You don't have to do that,' meant, 'Don't do that; don't ever do that again.' It was Winter's flaw that he wanted things he was not allowed; Steve allowed him so much—lavished him with undeserved care and attention—and yet rather than being grateful, the foolish slave selfishly wanted more.


	7. Thoroughly Inconvenient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are large copper earrings, a small comb, and artistic inspiration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My laptop broke, and it would cost more to fix it than to buy a new one. So. Just letting you all know that if updates are slower, that's why. (Still have all my stuff in Dropbox and Google drive, so I'm basically fine, but yeah.)

The woman with the large coppery earrings was trying to hand Tony a banana. That was...unexpected, actually—who did that, anyway? Offering samples of _bananas_ to interested customers? Tony looked between the offending fruit and her over-eager face. He was really getting tired of explaining it to everyone all the time—maybe he should wear a tablet on a chain around his neck with the words scrolling in large, flashing, bold, brightly-coloured type. “I don't like being handed things.”

Her cheerful expression morphed to one of confusion. Because, yeah, apparently Tony was the only one in the entire galaxy. He got that. He was _unique_.

Rhodey took the banana and offered the merchant a charming grin. “Thank you.”

She relaxed as Rhodey struck up some unimportant conversation with her, and Tony focused on considering his purchase. The bananas seemed to be of good quality, most not quite ripe, but that was ideal. Preferable to slightly overripe anyway. He selected a bunch of yellow ones so he could make a daiquiri right away then turned to the merchant. “I'll take these three crates as well. Can you have them delivered to my ship?” He gave her the airlock number and authorized the payment then turned to consider the other market stalls. It seemed there was quite a lot of fresh pineapple. He wondered if anyone really noticed the difference between that and the canned stuff that was so much more convenient to transport. Maybe he should call Pepper—it sounded like the sort of thing she might know.

o0o

Winter was idly tugging at a snarl in his hair—using his flesh hand since his hair often seemed to get caught in the metal one—while he and Steve lounged together on the bed. Steve had been telling him about his experiences in the recent Chitauri War—it would seem that was how he first met Tony. Steve turned to look at Winter suddenly and said, “Did I forget to offer you a comb? For your hair, I mean.”

And how the hell was Winter supposed to answer that question? He didn't want to imply Steve was an inattentive owner, because that couldn't have been further from the truth. And it's not like he'd had any actual opinions about his hair, hadn't even noticed the knots in it until quite recently. But maybe Steve wanted him to comb it—many people found combed, brushed, and styled hair to be more pleasant to look at. Winter shrugged, making himself seem unconcerned. “I just use my fingers, but if you think a comb would be better...” Steve of course kept his own hair so short he'd rarely have use for a comb.

Steve's face betrayed his conflict. No doubt he was twisting himself up over his aversion to giving orders or some such.

Winter made a face and held up the knotted lock of hair. “Not exactly military neat, is it, Captain?”

He hadn't tried calling Steve that before, since Steve wanted to be called 'Steve,' but it proved a good gamble: Steve relaxed, laughing softly and smiling easily at Winter. “There are combs in the second drawer on the left side of the sink.”

That probably meant he should go get a comb, so Winter carefully climbed over Steve and strode lazily to the bathroom, returning with a small comb in hand. Maybe he was meant to comb his hair in the bathroom in front of the mirror, but he didn't particularly care what it looked like so long as he could get his fingers through it. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, he began to work at the snarl that had started this. It was frustratingly stubborn, even with the comb. He was reasonably sure the hair was not supposed to snap if you did it right.

Steve was watching him with a mixture of mild amusement and concern. After a few moments he pulled himself up to sit as well—stubborn bastard probably didn't think Winter saw that wince—and reached out his hand. “Give me that—you never used a comb before, or what?”

Winter had not in fact used a comb in his memory, but he'd thought he had a working understanding of the theory. He surrendered the comb immediately. “I—” He blew out air through his lips and looked down at the bedspread then back up at Steve. “I suppose they're more complex than they seem.”

One corner of Steve's lips turned up. His eyes were as gentle as his hands as he took hold of Winter's hair and got to work. “It depends on the hair, actually. Mine's pretty easy; yours has always been tougher, even when you kept it shorter. It's the curls, mostly.”

Steve's hands, careful and patient, felt heavenly. This sort of intimate grooming was something masters sometimes did for their most prized slaves, those who had earned high favour. Steve knew nothing of these conventions, but his favour and regard for his slave was obvious. Winter swallowed. He wanted to close his eyes and just let the sensations wash over him, but he wanted to see Steve, to watch the careful, determined set of his jaw and the gently intent look in his eyes.

“This would probably be easier if we'd wet your hair,” Steve said, grinning his spectacular, bashful grin and shaking his head. But he didn't stop, didn't take his hands away, so Winter stayed still. He _wanted_ Steve's hands in his hair, and if dry hair took longer to comb, that was all the better.

Steve's retraining methods, unexpected as they were, had nonetheless been working. Slowly, slower than either Steve or Winter would have liked, but working still. And maybe Steve wasn't quite Winter's Master yet, but he'd made Winter _want_ him to be, and he'd done that before Winter had even understood that Steve was re-training him at all.

“You broke your hand once when we were teens,” Steve said, hands and comb still moving steadily in Winter's hair. “You could still handle most things okay, like brushing your teeth, but your hair...it had to _look_ a certain way, right? So you got me to do it for you—remember that?”

Winter shook his head, glancing down at where his hands lay in his lap and wondering which hand he'd broken. He looked back up into Steve's face. “Sorry. I—I wish I could.” It sounded like a nice memory, except for the actual breaking bones part, but he'd had so many broken bones since, even that couldn't be so bad.

Steve offered him an encouraging smile. “It's all right, Buck; at the time, I'm sure you wanted to forget.”

Winter mentally shook his head at his younger self. If a teenaged Bucky Barnes had ever wanted to forget a single millisecond of the time he'd spent with Steve, then he'd been a fool. Especially if he could have remembered something like _this_ , like Steve's careful fingers slowly and steadily working knots out of his hair. It was peaceful, it was beautiful—he could live in this moment forever and want nothing else.

o0o

There was a bar that, perhaps unsurprisingly, served banana daiquiris. Tony sat at one of the tables and sipped at his, considering. Wasn't the best he'd ever had, but certainly wasn't the worst. He raised an eyebrow at Rhodey's still mostly full glass. “How's your drink?”

Rhodey glanced down at it then back up at Tony. “It's fine.” As if to prove it, Rhodey took a sip of his drink. A small sip.

“Any idea where Happy is?” Frowning, Tony looked around the dingy room—whoever ran this place didn't seem to have ever heard the word 'ambiance.' “I woulda bought him a drink too.”

“He said something about...shopping, I think.” Rhodey shrugged. “You could call him.” He nodded towards Tony's phone where it lay on the dull grey tabletop.

“Nah.” Tony turned back to look at his drink, fiddling with the stem of his glass. “I'll just make him one later. Do you think Rogers and his boyfriend would want them too? We could have a bit of a party in my cabin. Or the mess, or wherever. I know Rogers can't get drunk, but these things just _taste_ good, right?”

Rhodey raised an eyebrow at him. “I don't think Barnes is technically Steve's 'boyfriend.'”

Tony snorted. “Yeah, maybe not _yet_ , but... It's like back when Happy was hopelessly, helplessly in love with Pepper but wouldn't admit it—remember that?”

Rhodey nodded. “I remember.” He chuckled softly. “You saying these two are going to end up committed to each other too?”

Tony grinned crookedly. “What I'm saying is I've never seen two people who were _already_ more committed to each other.”

Rhodey laughed, looking down at the table and shaking his head then looked back up, frowning slightly. “You think it'd be good idea to give Barnes alcohol? I mean, it might not affect him, since he's sorta supersoldiered liked Steve, but...if it did?”

Tony smiled crookedly over the top of his glass. “It's not exactly a great idea to give _me_ alcohol either, and yet here we are.”

Rhodey shook his head, leaning back in his chair and grinning. “Mostly I just consider you a lost cause.”

“Hey now.” Tony nudged his foot under the table, not quite a kick but not exactly playing footsie either. “If that were true, why are you still here: on my ship, on my payroll? It's a big galaxy...”

“It is.” Rhodey leaned forward, resting his folded arms on the table. “And nearly all of it is run by people who aren't just stupid but _evil_. So I'll take my chances here.” He nodded his head slightly from side to side, a thoughtful look on his face. “Better the devil I know and all that.”

Tony took a swallow of his drink, shifting in the creaky, uncomfortable chair. He fixed Rhodey with an intent look. “You'd better not ever turn out to be HYDRA, okay? Or so help me...”

“Yeah.” Rhodey gave him a smile that was both understanding and slightly pained. “I know. And, same, for the record.”

o0o

“I'm just a little jealous is all,” Tony said as he dodged people and cargo on the crowded dock. Rhodey was keeping pace with him while somehow making this obstacle course look like a stroll through a park. “And I don't just mean in a sexual way, though you've gotta admit they're both smokin', like _wow_. But in a deeper way, you know?” He glanced sideways at Rhodey's expression and made a disgusted sound. “Hey, I'll have you know that it's not just about sex with me. I have other...layers.” He heaved a sigh and twisted his lips into a thoughtful grimace. “Rogers and Barnes have all this history, though. They were _childhood friends_. Do you even know what that's like? Because I don't. The closest thing I had to a friend before I was twenty was my _nanny_.”

“Yeah, I know.” Rhodey glanced sideways at him while still walking nonchalantly through the chaos. “You've told me all about your terrible childhood, how hard it was to grow up rich.”

Tony nearly tripped over a coconut as it rolled across his path. He looked around in irritation but couldn't see where it may have come from and no one seemed to be trying to retrieve it. “Do you think we should have got some coconuts?”

“You said they were overpriced,” Rhodey reminded him. “And we've got the packaged stuff.”

“Yeah, but.” Tony bit the inside of his cheek as he tried to avoid stepping in a puddle of something sticky. “I've got plenty of money; it doesn't really matter how much things cost. And some people might prefer it fresh, unprocessed.”

Rhodey stopped, sighing, placing his hands on his hips and regarding Tony with mild exasperation. “Do you want to go back and buy coconuts?”

Tony made face. “Not really, no.”

“Then let's just get to the ship and make sure everything you did buy gets put away.” Which of course meant Rhodey was going to put it away while complaining that Tony didn't do his share. Never mind that it was Tony's ship, Tony's cargo, and that Rhodey himself was Tony's employee.

Tony grinned at him. “Sounds good. I'll even carry some of the stuff in this time.”

Rhodey quirked an eyebrow at him as he turned and started to walk again. “Really?”

“Don't question me or I'll change my mind.” Tony intentionally bumped his shoulder into Rhodey's as they rounded the corner.

o0o

Steve ran his fingers through Bucky's hair—the motion was meditative, soothing, no doubt more so for Bucky who seemed to be asleep where he lay with his head in Steve's lap. Steve was leaning against the headboard of his bed, comfortable so long as he didn't try to move in any way that would upset his rib. He wasn't entirely sure how Bucky's head had ended up in his lap, but he didn't mind. Bucky had seemed so calm while Steve combed his hair—relaxed in a way he hadn't been since...well, maybe since before the war, actually. Bucky had always done so much for him, so if he could give even something small back, that was something he wanted to do. And maybe on some level Bucky did remember Steve combing his hair before, even if he didn't have a conscious memory of it.

“Captain Rogers.” JARVIS' voice had an unexpected urgency to it. “Intruders—”

Bucky jolted awake almost as if electrocuted, sitting up and looking around warily, radiating tension.

“JARVIS?” Steve asked, but of course there was no response.

o0o

“It's my godsdamned ship, what do you mean I can't board?” Tony glared at the unrelenting airlock door as if it had personally offended him. Which it kinda had. “JARVIS?” he tried. “Come on buddy, open the door for me.” But there was no response from his earpiece. He turned to look at Rhodey. “What the hell?”

Rhodey was frowning, worried. Tony was worried too; it's not like JARVIS was prone to just taking naps.

o0o

Steve stepped quietly into the hallway. He and Bucky had both put on their boots, but they could still move quietly enough that the average human wouldn't be able to detect them—they'd also both pulled on real pants instead of their sweats, and Steve had his full uniform on and his shield slung across his back. They really needed to get Bucky some more clothes sometime, but this port had been much more focused on fresh produce than on things like clothing.

The door had refused to open, locked down somehow, but Bucky had been able to open it with minimal damage to the door itself. Steve probably could have done it himself, but if they were going to have to fight off intruders, it was probably unwise to risk injuring his cracked rib before he even left his cabin.

He'd tried to contact Tony of course, but his phone had no service. Which really didn't happen with Stark Phones unless someone was tampering somewhere—Tony was very proud of his near-constant near-universal coverage. Steve had never seen his phone lose service before, anyway, so that by itself would have been a little odd even if JARVIS hadn't suddenly gone offline after mentioning intruders.

Bucky was quiet and alert, on guard and perhaps wishing for a weapon but fully prepared to fight bare-handed.

They'd almost made it to the weapon's locker before the first guy jumped them.

o0o

“And of course my phone suddenly has no service,” Tony groused, shoving the useless technology back in his pocket and turning to slap his open hand against the airlock door. He turned to Rhodey, twisting his face into a grimace. “Yours?”

Rhodey shook his head, looking back up from his phone and letting out a breath. “Nothing. You think someone knocked out one of our satellites?”

“Not likely.” Tony shook his head. “Possible,” he allowed, “but unlikely.” He leaned against the wall and shoved his hands through his hair. What was more likely was a much more local problem. Though...if someone had been able to successfully hack JARVIS, that would mean a hacker as good as Tony, and that didn't actually happen...did it? Natasha had tried to hack JARVIS once. It hadn't worked.

o0o

The intruder—a guy with the sides of his head shaved and a fuzz of reddish hair on top—fell and looked like he might stay down this time. Steve had stayed out of the fight, something for which Winter was grateful. Steve was probably more interested in getting the weapons than he was in keeping his already injured self safe, but it was the end result that was important. And besides, Winter could easily handle one regular baseline human, and it was gratifying to know Steve knew that. If they kept coming one at a time, this would be over before it began.

“Bucky!” Steve tossed him an ICER rifle, and Winter caught it one-handed then smoothly positioned it in his grip, at the ready. A quiet part of his brain registered the implied order to use non-lethal force if possible, layering that over the previous order to protect Steve. It would have been better if they'd had more time to go over mission parameters and objectives, specific orders, what was acceptable, what was expected, and what was ideal. But Winter could deal with just this. It's not like they really had much choice.

He took aim with the ICER and shot the already unconscious intruder in the head then looked to Steve who gave him a nod of grim approval.

o0o

“Should we maybe contact...someone?” Rhodey asked. “Some sort of local authorities?”

Tony sat slouched against the wall, tapping away on his phone—stupid thing still claimed to have no service, but he wasn't about to let that deter him. He was Tony freaking Stark. He'd invented phones. Well, Stark Phones anyway. And he had a pretty good idea of when one of his creations was lying to him. He replied without looking up, “Not if we can avoid it.”

Letting out a loud breath, Rhodey sank down to crouch next to him. “Yeah, I get it. Never know who's HYDRA and all that.”

Tony nodded distractedly. In all likelihood, very few people out of everyone in the galaxy were actually HYDRA, but when your list of people who you could be pretty sure _weren't_ HYDRA consisted of less than ten people, it was kinda hard to just go trusting random strangers.

o0o

Winter jogged through the hallways after the man he'd seen. Steve and he had split up and Steve had gone after the woman. She was smaller so she was probably less likely capable of seriously injuring Steve, but appearances could be deceiving. Still, when averages and likelihood were all Winter had to go on, he felt good about his own choice of target.

Rounding the corner he came face to face with the intruder, feeling an odd sensation in his gut as recognition hit him. Winter knew this man: Rumlow. Someone who had obeyed Winter's former Master with a smug smirk and a cocky swagger, often working alongside Winter during the recent war. It was Rumlow who hesitated, though, lowering his weapon and frowning in confusion. “Winter?”

Winter's shot to his forehead dropped Rumlow to the floor, body limp and frown smoothed from his face.

“I answer to Bucky now,” Winter told Rumlow's unconscious form.

o0o

The first woman had been quick and agile—she'd managed to get a few shots at Steve, all of which he blocked easily with his shield—but Steve's enhanced reflexes had allowed him to get a shot on her despite all her dodging and leaping about. She hadn't even been wearing any sort of armour, just something black and skin-tight. He'd left her where she fell to backtrack looking for Bucky when he very nearly ran bodily into a second woman who stepped out from an alcove and held up her hands in surrender.

“Hi,” she said, eyes wide but smiling a little. “Is that an ICER?” She jerked her chin towards his pistol while keeping her hands up.

“Yeah.” ICERS were still pretty new technology and the rounds were quite a bit more expensive than regular bullets, but Tony preferred them and so did Steve. It was a lot easier to feel good about subduing your enemies with non-lethal force.

She relaxed somewhat, smiling nervously. “Might as well go ahead and Ice me then, right? Unless I'm the last one, but I assume that'd be Victor.”

Steve gave her a questioning look. “How many of you are there?”

“Five.” Her eyes darted around furtively as if expecting an attack from someone else. “But I'm not much use in a fight...ever. So it's really more like four.”

o0o

Steve rounded the corner, weapon in hand, but it wasn't the intruder that Steve saw first, that brought both his mind and body to a halt. It was Bucky: Bucky fighting some massive guy with a massive mane of wild blond hair who barely seemed to feel any of Bucky's blows, and he clearly wasn't holding back this time. It took a moment for the chilled realization to sink in that Bucky very much _had_ been holding back when he split Steve's lip and busted up his rib—the rib that still hurt, by the way, thanks very much for the reminder. But Steve might very well have been dead if Bucky hadn't been.

But _damn_ : Bucky. Steve wanted to _draw_ Bucky like this—the smooth way his arms and legs moved almost as if he was dancing rather than fighting, the deadly precision of his blows, the sweat-glisten of his hair as it flipped across the back of his neck and about his face. Steve wanted to cover a thousand pages in a thousand sketchbooks. Wanted to properly learn how to use the 3D modelling software on the tablet Tony had given him, wanted to figure out how to animate in 3D so he could bring an image of this up in holo. And what a thoroughly inconvenient time for inspiration to strike, really—usually Steve was much better at compartmentalizing his art versus his day job. This was a _combat_ situation, after all. He should have been helping Bucky subdue the intruder, not staring slack-jawed like an imbecile and writing bad poetry in his head.

He took aim and shot the guy in the forehead, hoping it would at the very least distract him. Bucky's own ICER rifle was slung across his back, and Steve wasn't at all unsure that he'd tried it and found it ineffective. Which of course Steve's own shot was, but the shot did manage to startle and perhaps even confuse the man long enough for Bucky to get a good hit in with his metal hand, so Steve shot again, hoping they didn't run out of ammo before they figured out some way to get this guy down and keep him down.

Steve's brain finally slid the pieces together. The woman had said 'Victor,' and while the long blond hair was unfamiliar and the man wasn't exactly standing still and letting Steve get a good look at his face and Steve had only really met him briefly before, he was familiar in a way most people just weren't since Steve had woken up in the future. This was Victor Creed, and the ICERS were ineffective for the same reason he hadn't aged while Steve slept. Gifted, like his brother: regenerative healing. Dammit, this was _not_ going to be easy.

o0o

“What's going on?”

Tony looked up from his phone to see Happy standing over them looking confused. “Oh,” Tony said. “We're locked out by some smart-ass hacker.”

Happy frowned. “Someone _hacked_ JARVIS.”

“Yeah...” Tony shrugged. “I didn't think it was possible either.”

“Wait...” Happy looked at the airlock door. “Do you mean there are people, unauthorized people, on board our ship?”

Tony went back to tapping on his touchscreen. If he had a few more minutes, he might just be able to get this. “I really have no way of knowing, but I'd say it's probable.”

“Are Rogers and Barnes still on board?” Happy asked.

“As far as we know,” Rhodey answered. “Our phones are claiming 'no service,' so we can't call them either.”

“Son of a... Stark Phones aren't supposed to do this!” Happy had no doubt just checked his own phone, and there was an edge of something that might be accusation in his voice.

“Really not my fault, Happy,” Tony said, still typing. “Blame the hacker.”

Happy breathed an irritated sigh. “Since you invented the phones _and_ JARVIS, I think it still counts as your fault for not making them secure enough.”

“Not exactly helping,” Rhodey muttered.

But Happy had a point. This was Tony's fault. But he was going to fix it. He just needed a bit more time.

o0o

Steve emptied his pistol into Creed's head, each shot allowing Bucky a brief opportunity, moments he was using skillfully and effectively. As Steve slid another clip into his gun, Creed got a swipe in on Bucky's face, bestial claws breaking the skin on Bucky's cheekbone, far too close to his eye. Clenching his jaw, Steve took steady aim and fired three shots into Creed's head in rapid succession. He only had one more clip on him, and ICER rounds weren't exactly readily available—though Tony could probably make more in the lab given time and the right materials. But Creed needed to go _down_ , preferably before his companions started waking up. Steve fired three more times, and Bucky managed to trip Creed, and he fell to one knee. Steve shot him again, twice, and then Bucky had Creed face down on the floor with his arms held securely behind his back, snarling incoherently.

“Creed,” Steve said, voice clear and commanding. “It's over. Stand _down_.”

“Rogers?” Creed turned his head, face still pressed against the floor, to get a look at Steve. He let out a choking laugh. “Well, I'll be damned by _all_ the gods.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on characters and canon:  
> In case you were wondering, Victor Creed basically looks like a combination of the two actors who have played him in the X-Men films. Feel free to just picture whichever is your favourite, but keep in mind that he does have the long blond mane.  
> (The identities of the other intruders will be revealed in the next chapter - feel free to guess between now and then.)  
> “Gifted” here means “mutant.” It's apparently more of a blanket term in the MCU, but here it specifically applies to individuals born with the X-Gene.
> 
> This fic now has fanart! :D (*squeeing incoherently*)  
> An untitled [collage](http://gastfyr.tumblr.com/post/91189013350/my-wonderful-dorky-amazing-husband-made-this) by my amazing husband.  
> "[Glad you're here](http://atwojay.deviantart.com/art/Glad-you-re-here-466861350)," a photo manip for Ch 3 by [atwojay](http://atwojay.deviantart.com/) ([EstherA2J](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EstherA2J)).  
> "[Like a slave](http://atwojay.deviantart.com/art/Like-a-slave-466799246)," an photo manip for Ch 4 by [atwojay](http://atwojay.deviantart.com/) ([EstherA2J](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EstherA2J)).


	8. Interrogations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the intruders' identities are revealed, Steve and Creed talk about Jesus, and Rumlow swears a lot.

Once all the intruders were properly restrained in holding cells—mostly makeshift 'cells' in a cargo bay since the Stark 1 only had the one actual cell, and that was only really big enough for one person, especially when that person was as big as Victor Creed—Winter let Steve lead him to the infirmary. He sat as instructed and waited obediently as Steve cleaned the wound on his face. It was the only wound he'd sustained, other than maybe a bit of bruising on the knuckles of his flesh hand.

Though Steve was tense, upset, his hands were gentle as ever. But he dropped the antibiotic ointment and squeezed his eyes shut, swearing softly under his breath as it clattered noisily to the floor, “Dammit.”

“Are you angry with me?” Winter should have been able to dodge the hit, but it had been weeks since he'd had any practice with hand-to-hand—or any combat at all, because hitting Steve while he refused to fight back obviously didn't count. It wasn't an excuse, but it must be a factor.

“What?” Steve shot him a completely befuddled look as he stood up from retrieving the ointment. His brow furrowed in confusion. “Why would I be angry with you?”

Winter looked down, twisting his fingers together in front of him. “I was injured.”

Steve took ahold of Winter's jaw and tilted his head up to look into his face again. His voice was steady and sure when he spoke, “I'm angry at the guy who hurt you, Bucky.” He pressed a piece of damp gauze to the wound once more to soak up the slowly seeping blood. “You did good. Real good. I—” Steve swallowed and looked away briefly then looked back, smiling all soft and warm and wondrous. “I'm proud of you.”

Winter couldn't help smiling back, though it kind of made his cheek hurt a little. And might not have been the best thing for stopping the bleeding.

“Careful,” Steve cautioned as he dabbed the ointment over the wound.

Winter carefully stilled his features, and Steve applied a bandage, fingers brushing lightly against Winter's skin. Winter leaned into the touch, looking up at Steve and letting his eyes go wide and vulnerable. His former Master had never been gentle with him when he'd been injured, had been rougher instead, saying it was an important lesson. Steve was different; Steve was so much better. “You're a good Master, Steve.”

Steve reacted as though he'd been struck, immediately pulling his hands back and clenching them into fists at his sides. “Dammit, Bucky—I'm not—” He turned away, clenching his jaw tightly and swallowing roughly. “I'm not your master.”

Winter caught Steve's hand in his flesh one and looked up at him, trying to catch his eye. Maybe Steve was right; maybe he wasn't Winter's Master. “But I want you to be.”

Steve turned back to look at him then, confusion painted across his face in broad strokes and conflict swirling in his eyes.

Winter exhaled, stroking his thumb against Steve's skin, and tried to explain, “For the longest time, I wasn't allowed to choose anything, and that felt normal, because it was all I knew, but now I've learned how important choices are. You're the Master I'd choose.”

Steve's breath caught in his throat and everything in his eyes grew more intense as he looked down at Winter. His voice was rough and damp when he spoke. “Bucky...”

And of course that was the moment when Tony barged into the infirmary demanding to know which of the prisoners had managed to hack his AI, as if either Steve or Winter would actually know.

o0o

So, what do we have here?” Tony indicated the holo displays, pictures and text moving in response to his gestures. Gods, it was good to have his tech obeying him again. “Georges Batroc, mercenary, born on Algiers Colony, _quite_ the criminal record—most of it piracy—never formally committed, one daughter: Marie Batroc—still a minor, location unknown.”

“He might not technically _be_ HYDRA,” Steve said. He was standing, arms folded across his chest, still wearing his full uniform with his shield slung across his back, watching and listening. Barnes was sitting against the wall, also watching and no doubt listening, and oddly well-behaved for a guy who'd so recently used the galaxy's golden boy as a punching bag—and much more recently defended Tony's ship quite successfully from intruders. Happy and Rhodey were there as well, eyes intent on the displays, but Steve stood unchallenged in the middle of the room, as if he were the one in charge and not Tony who was the captain and owner of the ship or Happy who was head of security. And Steve was still speaking, so Tony listened. “But he was working for them—I fought him recently, at the start of this war.” Steve turned to look at Tony. “He was the leader of the group holding Sitwell hostage aboard the Lemurian Star.”

Tony nodded. Sitwell himself being HYDRA didn't make Batroc's HYDRA status any less likely; HYDRA just did things like that. “Noted: probably HYDRA—do not trust.” He tapped the appropriate instructions into his Stark Phone then looked back up at the holo, finding the info on the next intruder. “Victor Creed aka 'Sabretooth,' formerly of Weapon X, born on Nouveau Canada _ages_ ago, fought alongside _you_ , Cap, in the _First_ SHIELD-HYDRA War.” He turned to Steve, raising an eyebrow in question. “You know him?”

Steve nodded. “We've met. I knew his brother, Logan Howlett.”

Tony raised his eyebrow further as he studied the live feed from Creed's cell. “Guy doesn't look a day over forty-five—they make a few more supersoldiers and not tell me?” It wasn't _too_ strange, though, for brothers to have different last names, but of course it usually indicated step, half, foster, or some other non-standard family makeup.

Steve shook his head. “Logan was one of the Gifted; he could heal from anything, faster than me—quite a lot faster than me. I assume his brother is Gifted as well...considering.”

“Right.” Tony nodded. That's often how the Gifted thing worked, after all. And Creed had reportedly been nearly immune to the effects of ICERS. “So...HYDRA, not, or we have no idea?”

Steve shrugged. “I'd put money on _Logan_ not being HYDRA, assuming he's still around. But Creed...I can't help you there either way.”

“Not a problem,” Tony said, making a note for 'we have no idea.' “Though I suppose we at least know he was fighting on the SHIELD side way back when.”

Steve nodded. “Assuming that means anything.”

Tony blew air out through his lips. “Exactly.” He turned his attention back to the display. “Okay, so: Felicia Hardy aka 'Black Cat,' recently of Oscorp, more recently a freelance thief, born on NYC Station...has been romantically linked with both Harry Osborn and Peter Parker.”

“Peter Parker?” Steve shot Tony a questioning look, had probably heard the name before.

“Yeah; friend of mine; good kid.” Peter had done some intern work with Bruce and Tony at the Tower but had been away when the war broke out. Tony hadn't heard from him but hoped he was okay. Kid was resourceful. There was a good chance. Also, Tony hoped, a good chance he wasn't actually HYDRA. Tony took a breath. “Moving on: Brock Rumlow aka 'Crossbones.'” Tony snorted—a pirate calling himself 'Crossbones' was about as obvious as 'Sparrow' or 'Jolly Roger.' “SHIELD, STRIKE division, apparently.”

“He's HYDRA,” Steve supplied. “Fought alongside me and Natasha only to turn on us.”

“All right then.” Tony tapped on his phone. “Filing under 'asshole.'” He looked back at the holo. “Now this last one...” He paused, scratching his head. “I've got nothing.” He blew out an irritated breath. “The facial recognition is saying she doesn't exist, and that just doesn't _happen_.”

On the live feed from the cell—it was technically a cargo bay partitioned off into makeshift cells, since Creed was in their only real cell—she lay curled on her side, her long hair pooled about her head. She was young—probably early to mid twenties—and she had tan skin with medium brown hair. And she was pretty in a sort of delicate way, contrasting with her companions. And, no, it _wasn't_ creepy to watch her while she was unconscious. You know what was creepy? Hacking into other people's computers and breaking into their ships. Now that Tony had his technology up and running again, he was damn well going to use it to keep tabs on the people who'd invited themselves onto his ship and then locked him out.

“She's the one who surrendered, but she didn't tell me her name.” Steve turned toward Tony and raised an eyebrow. “I suppose it wouldn't hurt to ask her?”

Tony nodded. He planned to ask all of them a few questions.

“But what should we do with them?” Happy asked. “Should we...turn them over to local authorities?”

Tony grimaced. “No. Not a chance. At least two of these guys are very probably HYDRA, and one of them was able to hack JARVIS, so I'm very not comfortable letting them out of my sight. Not when half the galaxy's 'local authorities' are very likely HYDRA themselves.”

Rhodey nodded. “Exactly. Who knows what sort of intel they might have gathered on us that they'd take back to their little HYDRA friends.” He didn't glance at Barnes; he didn't have to.

Happy breathed out a sigh. “Okay then. So we're going to need an actual prison at the Tower.” He shot Tony a small grin. “I suppose it was inevitable.”

Tony nodded. It was probably a little late, actually.

o0o

Since Creed was still conscious, he was the first one they questioned. Bucky didn't want to let Steve go into Creed's cell alone—of course he didn't; he was Bucky, protective as ever. Heck, no one wanted to let Steve go in alone, but at least they all agreed he was the logical choice to question Creed. Happy and Rhodey joined Bucky right outside the door armed with ICER rifles—three shots in rapid succession had seemed to have some effect earlier, so three simultaneous shots would probably be even more effective. Not that there'd be any need to find out. Steve shook his head as he opened the door, really doubting Creed would attack him—he'd gone quietly enough earlier once he'd recognized Steve. And once he'd been face-down on the floor with Bucky's knee on his back.

“Heard you died.” Creed leaned back against the wall of the cell, arms folded. They hadn't bothered to cuff him, since Steve was pretty sure he'd be able to break any of the cuffs they had on board.

Steve nodded as the door slid shut behind him. “Most people heard that.”

Creed snorted softly. “Heard you did the Jesus thing an' came back too.”

Steve leaned his shoulder against the wall, his own arms folded, levelling his gaze at Creed. “What do you know about Jesus, Creed?”

Creed shrugged. “Enough. Know he was a mutant, like me. That guy could heal anyone just by touching them—some say with his blood, too. Walked on water and turned it into wine.”

“You still say 'mutant'?” Steve's brow furrowed. That was a word he hadn't heard in a while. “I woke up in the future and they told me that was rude—we say 'Gifted' now.”

Creed snorted. “Yeah, all you baselines are so concerned about hurting our feelings. Xavier still says 'mutant.' Magneto says 'mutant.' Mystique says, 'mutant and proud.' What'd you think the 'M' in 'Asteroid M' stood for, anyway?”

Steve hadn't thought much about it, but he'd sort of assumed it stood for 'Magneto.' He didn't say anything.

Creed shook his head. “Words are only rude if you make 'em rude, Rogers. Like if you call a little girl a little girl; it's only rude if you make it rude—otherwise it's just true.”

That did make sense, though it was entirely possible that not all Gifted felt the same way. But that wasn't why he was here, talking to Creed. “Would you consider it rude if I asked you how long you've been HYDRA?”

Creed snorted again, rolling his eyes. “You mean like Rumlow? He's been whining like a snot-nosed kid this whole time about how he was 'too good' for HYDRA anyway, should never have joined up, never really believed in the whole philosophy—damn brat's so godsdamn annoying.” Creed shook his head, grunting in disgust. “He'd probably shut up more if Batroc wasn't such a sympathetic ear, always agreeing how he was too good for HYDRA too, how they betrayed him and all that.” He looked Steve in the eye. “I ain't HYDRA, Rogers. Never had much use for SHIELD other than the paycheck they'd give me for killing people—but HYDRA? They're all about 'order' and such bullshit and expect you to be _covert_. That ain't my style.”

It wasn't proof, of course, but maybe it was enough. It's not like there was any way to prove it one way or the other. “I hope you're not offended if we still keep you in this cell for now.”

Creed shook his head. “Nope. I'd be a bit confused, actually, if you let me out after I barged onto your ship and started beating up your friends.”

o0o

Unsurprisingly, Rumlow was the first Iced intruder to awaken. It would have been him or Batroc, and Steve had said Batroc was unconscious before they even Iced him.

“You wanna talk to this one too?” Tony asked Steve. Too many of these pirates seemed to have some personal connection to him. It was a little unsettling.

“Not particularly.” Steve offered Tony a rueful smile. “But I will.”

“I could talk to him,” Tony offered. He wouldn't mind, really. Talking was something he was usually good at.

“Nah.” Steve shook his head. “I think it kinda has to be me.”

“Fine, do all the work.” Tony huffed, running his fingers through his hair. Trust Steve, really. Tony resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Just remember; I don't even pay you.”

“Why don't you pay him?” Happy cut in. “I mean, I'd love to have him on my staff.” He turned to Steve. “I'm serious.”

“He and Barnes did take out all five pirates by themselves,” Rhodey pointed out, turning to nod at both men in turn.

“I appreciate that, Happy,” Steve said, nodding his acknowledgement. “And I'll think about it.”

“Take all the time you need,” Happy said. “Offer's pretty much open forever.”

Tony wasn't sure how he felt about the idea of having the great hero of all the wars in living memory on his payroll, but he couldn't deny he felt better with Steve watching his back. The guy had issues, sure, and maybe he needed a keeper more than Tony did sometimes, but he was still the most trustworthy person Tony had ever met.

Sometimes, it was still difficult to believe he was real. Okay, maybe most of the time, and yet there he was.

o0o

“The one who shot me,” Rumlow said as soon as the door closed behind Steve. “Winter.”

“His name is James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve corrected. “Or just Bucky.”

Rumlow narrowed his eyes, a look of disbelief on his face. He shook his head, rolling his shoulders and turning his head to look at Steve. “Whatever. It doesn't matter what you call him. He's—do you have any godsdamn clue how dangerous he is?” Steve felt he had a pretty good idea, actually. “And you just let him run around loose...”

Steve narrowed his eyes at him, annoyed. “Did you have a point?”

“I'm trying to help you out here, Rogers.” Rumlow turned fully to face Steve, spreading his hands at his sides.

Steve snorted softly. “I'm no longer interested in the sort of 'help' you have to offer.”

“Oh, come on, Cap.” Rumlow rolled his eyes. “Look, I'm sorry I tried to take over your ship—or, Stark's ship, or whatever. I'm a pirate now, okay? You gotta admit that's a step up from HYDRA.”

Steve just looked at him, because he didn't have to admit any such thing. Especially when it was entirely possible to be both at the same time.

“I'm—look, I get that you're angry about...what happened.” 'Angry' wasn't exactly the best word for it, actually, but Steve didn't interrupt. “But right now I'm on your side.” Rumlow grinned, a little hesitant and maybe a bit hopeful. “Really.” His face grew more serious. “And I'm telling you you can't trust Winter—do you have even the slightest idea who he _is_? I was one of HYDRA's goons, but he's HYDRA's _F_ _ist_.”

Steve folded his arms and leaned his back against the wall. “I've known him a bit longer than you have, Rumlow.” If this guy thought he could tell Steve about his best and oldest friend... “I've known him my whole life.”

Rumlow shook his head. “No, no.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back onto his heels. “You know the guy he _used to be_ , the one HYDRA ripped out.” He pointed toward the door, his whole arm indicating Bucky's general direction. “What they put in him, you have no idea.” His arm fell back to his side. “You don't think he could play you?” He rubbed at his stubbly jaw. “Hell, _I_ played you, and he's at least ten times better than I ever was.”

“You're right,” Steve admitted. “You did play me.” He shrugged. “Sometimes I put my trust in the wrong people. But that doesn't mean I stop trusting altogether.”

Rumlow made a rough sound in his throat and rubbed his hand over his mouth. “After everything...every godsdamned thing that's happened, you still trust people?” He shook his head, spreading his hands at his sides. “How?”

Steve's lips turned up at one side. “I have faith.”

Rumlow's eyes bulged. “Holy fucking _pantheons_ of gods—this—this is some sort of _religious_ thing for you? Like, is that how your—your mind works? You just trust in your god to take care of you?” He made a rough, disbelieving sound, shaking his head. “Well, I hate to be the one to point this out, but he seems to be doing a pretty fucking terrible job so far, unless you somehow hadn't noticed.” He looked away in disgust. “So maybe Winter's not the only very stupid thing you've put your faith in.”

Steve quietly took a few breaths, standing still against the wall. He hadn't expected Rumlow to understand, but human souls couldn't just be ripped out and replaced with programming—maybe it wasn't something he could prove, something Bruce and Tony could demonstrate scientifically, but that didn't change what was true. And that wasn't why he was here, anyway. “If we're not going to discuss your current loyalty to HYDRA, I think I'm wasting my time here.” He turned to go.

“No, wait.” Rumlow caught his arm. “I don't—I'm _not_ loyal to HYDRA.”

Steve looked down at Rumlow's hand on his arm, and he pulled it away guiltily.

“Batroc, Sabretooth, Black Cat—any of them could tell you that,” Rumlow continued. “HYDRA—” He exhaled, looking down. “It was a stupid decision, ever joining up, but once you're in, it's hard to get out, you know?” He glanced up at Steve, eyes widening, vulnerability utterly incongruous on his face. “I was really glad you won, that you took them down; it gave me the chance to get away, and I've done that, and I'd _never_ go back. If you'd just... I know how to fight, and I could use that to help you and your friends. Don't I deserve another chance?”

Steve shook his head. “It doesn't really matter what you deserve, Rumlow.” And it didn't, because Steve couldn't trust him not to stab him literally in the back again—or worse, go after Bucky whom he obviously perceived as a serious threat. Keeping him locked up indefinitely seemed impractical, but it was the most practical option they had.

“You're the one I should have been loyal to all along,” Rumlow said, an edge of desperation in his voice.

“That's right,” Steve agreed as the door closed between them.

o0o

Watching the interrogation on the live feed, Tony had to wonder who exactly within HYDRA had owned Barnes that he'd apparently been some important 'Fist' of the organization. Thinking about it, Tony was pretty sure Barnes had never even actually said his former owner had been HYDRA, but it had been pretty obvious around the time he'd asked to have the tracker removed.

He glanced over at Barnes, wondering if maybe he should just ask him about it. But...this probably wasn't the best time. And Steve was pretty protective of his friend—understandably, of course—so it would probably be best to clear it with him before starting anything that might look or sound like an interrogation.

He made a mental note to talk about this later. It was probably important.

o0o

When Steve came back out of Rumlow's cell, he walked right over to Winter and put his hand on his shoulder, smiling down at him. He didn't say anything; he didn't have to. Winter smiled back, grateful.

It's not like Rumlow had lied, precisely; Winter had been the Fist of HYDRA, and he was in fact very dangerous.

But he was Steve's now. Everything was different.

o0o

The next to wake was Felicia Hardy. Since Steve didn't actually have any personal connection with her—making her a bit of an anomaly, actually—Tony got to interrogate her himself.

“Hi,” he said, offering a polite smile as the door closed behind him. “Tony Stark, owner and captain of the ship you so recently failed to...uh, whatever you were trying to do...with my ship.”

The corner of her lips quirked up. “It's truly a pleasure to meet the famous Tony Stark.” Rising, she offered him a handshake. “I'm Felicia.” The black leather outfit she wore was bizarre—apparently designed much more for appearance than practicality—not that Tony was complaining. At all.

“Hardy,” Tony added, accepting the handshake. “Yeah, I know; once I got my tech up and working again...well, I had your educational and dental records before you even regained consciousness.” The Targaryen blonde hair was apparently natural, though she'd been dying it during her time at Oscorp—and she didn't have the purple eyes to match; just blue-green ones. Pretty, though.

She pouted, rueful and intentionally attractive. “I guess the mask didn't really help...”

That thing around her eyes was meant to be a mask? Tony offered her a sympathetic grimace.

She sighed, folding her arms and leaning against the wall.

“So,” Tony said. “What's the deal with you and HYDRA, anyway?”

“I don't know anything about HYDRA,” she responded, shaking her head so her bangs fell across her forehead. “I'm just a thief.” She wrinkled her nose. “That Crossbones guy is HYDRA...or, was. Batroc too—worked for them, anyway. Neither of them seem too happy with HYDRA since everything fell apart, though. I suppose...” She laughed softly, looking away. “It kinda does look bad to be hanging around with them, considering.” She looked back, meeting Tony's gaze. “So yeah, I get you being suspicious. I'd be suspicious too.” She shrugged.

It was too bad they had to keep her locked up; she was pretty hot, and, well...this really wasn't the time. Obviously.

o0o

By the time Tony was done talking to Hardy, the woman who'd surrendered was awake and calmly sitting up against the wall with her knees pulled up to her chest. Since he'd already had one conversation with her—and it had gone reasonably well, considering—Steve figured he might as well be the one to talk to her.

No one protested this time, though Bucky did give his hand a tight squeeze before reluctantly letting him go. It wasn't easy for Bucky, being separated from Steve, especially not after all that had happened to him—and he could still watch the live feed, of course, but it wasn't quite the same. Bucky wasn't complaining, but Steve could see the weariness in the lines around his eyes and the set of his shoulders. It would be good to get back to their cabin soon.

“Hello again,” Steve said as he entered the cell.

“Hey.” Standing up, the woman offered what looked like a genuine smile.

“We didn't get a chance to be properly introduced.” Steve returned her smile with one of his own. “I'm Steve—Steve Rogers.”

Grinning broadly, she offered him a handshake. Her dark brown eyes held that star-struck look Steve didn't think he'd ever get quite used to seeing. “It is an honour to meet you, Captain Rogers.”

Steve accepted the handshake. It wasn't the first time—not by far—that Steve had met someone who knew of him when he had no idea who they were, but still. The feeling was always odd. He was about to ask for her name, when she gave it.

“Skye.” She shrugged, smiling and pushing her hair behind her ear.

“Skye...?” Most people did tend to have more than just one name.

“Just Skye—the one name.” She nodded, expression saying she was used to people questioning her on that, though maybe she didn't really mind.

“Like Thor?”

Her smile was lopsided, maybe a little smug. “Technically, Thor's surname is Odinson.”

“Right.” Steve had known that, just...forgotten. It's not like Thor ever used any name other than 'Thor.' “Asgardian names are...”

“Confusing.” She nodded. “For us, anyway; I assume they're easier if you grow up in that culture.”

Steve nodded as well then took a breath—there was no way around the awkwardness, and the fact that she seemed so friendly and generally pleasant wasn't actually helping. “Look, I kind of need to ask you why you're working for HYDRA.”

“I'm not.” Her answer was quick, and then she made a face that was part amused and part chagrined. “Though of course if I was, I'd still say that...”

Exactly. Steve sighed. What could they do to be sure, really?

She blew out air through her lips and leaned against the wall, folding her arms across her chest. “I was actually SHIELD, kinda. I mean, I was new, in training. But my SO turned out to be HYDRA...” She grimaced.

“I'm sorry.” That couldn't have been easy.

“Yup.” She nodded, pressing her lips together in something like a grim smile. “I mean, he tried to recruit me, but, screw that.”

“Yeah.” Steve exhaled. “So you decided to turn pirate instead?”

She grinned crookedly. “Totally.” Then she looked away, suddenly awkward again. “It's not exactly new for me; I used to be Rising Tide.”

She said it as if she expected Steve to trust her less at the revelation, but he'd never heard of the organization. “And that's bad?”

“No, no.” She shook her head quickly. “Well, not really.” She grimaced. “I mean, not exactly. We weren't supposed to be.” She sighed, leaning her head back against the wall. “But our leader turned out to be...well, less of an idealist than we all thought.”

“I'm sorry,” Steve said again. He knew a little of what that was like, actually, for people he looked up to and respected to let him down. For people he trusted to betray him.

“Hey, I'll be okay.” She offered him a hesitant smile. “I might not always land on my feet, but as long as I pick myself back up that's what's important, right?”

Steve nodded. “That's right.” That _was_ what was important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on characters and canon:  
> Skye is from 'Agents of SHIELD.'  
> Felicia Hardy, aka “Black Cat,” appears in 'The Amazing Spider-Man 2,' but is here based more on her appearance in 'The Spectacular Spider-Man' animated series.


	9. Somewhere He Had Never Left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve isn't quite as gullible as Tony thinks, they could really use a telepath, and drool is kinda gross.

“So,” Happy said. “We've talked to four of the five now, and what do we know?” Batroc was still out cold, having already had a head injury—courtesy of Barnes, resident expert in giving injuries—before being Iced.

“Not a lot,” Rhodey answered, folding his arms, expression grim. “They all _say_ they're not HYDRA, though of course Rumlow has to admit that he has been, and quite recently.”

Steve nodded. “Of the four, he's still the one I'm least inclined to trust.”

“Really?” Tony raised his eyebrows. “Even after that whole, 'give me another chance, Cap, I can be good, _honest_ ' speech?” Tony was so glad he had that recorded. _So_ glad.

Steve gave him a deliberate, blank look. “I'm not quite as gullible as you think, Stark.”

Tony laughed, shaking his head. “I was half expecting him to declare his undying love for you, fall on his knees, kiss your hand, and beg forgiveness.”

Steve raised an incredulous eyebrow.

Rhodey laughed. “Either he has a crush on you, Cap, or that was part of the act—you didn't pick up on that?”

Steve didn't say anything. But of course he hadn't picked up on that—he hadn't picked up on Barnes' crush, and that one was about a thousand times more obvious. And also honest. Probably.

Tony glanced briefly at Barnes who was still sitting against the wall, arms folded across his chest. Poor guy looked exhausted. And very much not caring about HYDRA goons who might have crushes—feigned or otherwise—on his boyfriend.

Tony turned to Happy. “We could really use a telepath, but I suppose the next best thing would be a lie detector.” He frowned, thoughtful. “Give me and Bruce a few days, and we can throw something together, but the testing and fine-tuning process could take a lot longer.” He scratched his head. “And it's not like they're ever impossible to beat.” Gods, they really could use a telepath. But the Gifted were circling their wagons—understandably, but still. It was a bit of a surprise to see Creed out associating with baselines, but then he didn't really seem the type to fall in anyone's line or hide behind a barricade when there was fighting going on. And of course the Wakandans were doing essentially the same thing as the Gifted, perhaps less understandably—but...that was just a cultural thing for them. Or something. Maybe it was a cultural thing for the Gifted as well. Tony didn't pretend to understand. He wondered if it was ever possible to fool a telepath.

Happy was nodding. “Yeah, I guess a lie detector would be something, anyway.”

It would give them something other than gut feelings to go on, even if it still wasn't perfect. Speaking of gut feelings, though... Tony turned to Steve. “So you said Rumlow's the one you're least likely to trust—care to let us know who ranks best for you?” Tony was thinking Skye, oddly enough, despite her suspicious lack of a last name and the fact that she was most certainly the one who'd hacked JARVIS, given her background with the Rising Tide and all...wait, what was _up_ with that? No, not Skye: Hardy. That's who Tony would trust. Probably. At least she was upfront about being a thief. Oh hell, how could he trust _any_ of them?

“Creed,” Steve answered, and everyone, including Barnes—who hadn't been participating in or even reacting to the conversation—turned to stare at him. Steve rolled his eyes. “I'm not saying let him out of the cell or anything, but he's the one I'd peg as least likely to be HYDRA: doesn't mean he's a nice guy, and doesn't mean he's least likely to try to kill us if he thinks it'd be beneficial to him.” Steve took a breath and let it out. “After him, I'd say Skye.”

Tony frowned. That was...interesting? “Why her?”

Steve shrugged. “She just seems...good? A good person, I mean.” He looked away, eyes thoughtful. “Even when I trusted Rumlow as an ally, I never really got that sense from him. He did the job, or at least he always seemed to, but...” He made a soft, frustrated sound, then looked at Tony. “I'm not sure I can explain it; I guess...I just _want_ to trust her.” He looked around at the others. “I don't know—who would you all say is least likely to be HYDRA?”

“I agree with Cap,” Happy said, nodding at Steve. “Creed isn't someone I'd want wandering around loose, but he's probably not HYDRA.”

“I'd go with Skye,” Rhodey said. “It's not a lot to go on, but she surrendered willingly, and...I guess it's just like you said, Cap.” He nodded to Steve as well. “She just seems like a good person.” He shrugged. “Current piracy and the Rising Tide aside.”

“I'd pick Hardy myself,” Tony said, ignoring the knowing grin Rhodey was at least pretending to try to hide by ducking his head. “After her, I suppose Skye.” Bugger that his instincts were clamouring for it to be the other way around. And bugger anyone who thought he was thinking with his dick, because Rumlow was actually pretty hot—physically, anyway—and even Creed was scoring in the 'yes, I would' column of Tony's personal...list...thing. The claws were definitely _not_ a deterrent—y'know, so long as the guy understood the concept of a safeword. But anyway... “Your arguments about Creed do make sense, though.” He nodded at Rogers. “And of course you know him better than any of us do.” He grinned, sharp. “I suppose we're all in agreement that Rumlow's the very bottom of the very bottom barrel, and this Batroc guy is about one rung on the lying liar ladder above that. Even without actually talking to him.”

Happy and Rhodey nodded.

Steve looked at Barnes and it took a while for Barnes to realize Steve was waiting for an opinion from him, and then he looked surprised and a little uncomfortable.

“I agree about Rumlow,” Barnes said at last. “I don't know anything about Batroc.” He looked at Steve, all hesitance and 'Is this okay; is this what you want?' and Tony's heart constricted roughly. But Steve gave Barnes a small nod, so he continued, “And all I know about Creed is that he's a dangerous opponent. I don't know anything about Skye or Hardy. I—” He glanced at the displays then back at Steve. “I mean, all I know is what I've seen here.”

Barnes looked so lost and Tony was almost sure he was about to ask if he needed to have an opinion, if Steve wanted him to have an opinion, but Steve just nodded and said, “Thanks, Buck,” and Barnes visibly relaxed, offering Steve a hesitant half-smile.

And, okay, maybe that wasn't the, uh, healthiest interaction Tony had ever witnessed, but who was he to judge? No doubt Barnes still had a bunch of crap conditioning to get over, and gods knew they'd all had a long day. “Well,” Tony said, looking at the assembled group and smiling. “I'm sure we're all tired, so let's get some food and some sleep—I _was_ going to invite everyone to my cabin for daiquiris, but I guess we can postpone that for tomorrow or something.”

Steve's brow creased with concern. “Should someone keep an eye on Batroc?” And no doubt the idiot would volunteer himself, given the chance.

“Nope.” Tony shook his head, decisively. Bloody freaking pirates who were probably HYDRA didn't need anyone fussing over them. “I talked to Bruce—you know, when you were having your little chats with our guests—and he said it should be fine to just leave him as is. Bruce can't do anything remotely, anyway, so yeah. And JARVIS can keep an eye on his vitals, right, J?”

“Of course, sir.”

Steve still looked worried. “We're going to at least leave him some food and water in case he wakes up, right?”

“Well, it's not like they deserve it,” Tony grumbled, “but I suppose we have to feed them all.”

o0o

Happy settled into the role of jailer happily enough—and Tony probably found that pun far too amusing—visiting each cell in turn to introduce himself and give instructions on practical things like how to contact JARVIS if they needed medical attention or whatever and delivering blankets, bottled water, protein bars, dried fruit, and fresh apples. Tony wasn't about to authorize giving them bananas, but then no one even suggested it.

It wasn't surprising that Hardy tried to flirt with Happy, nor was it surprising that he ignored it. Everyone else just seemed varying degrees of thankful.

Tony yawned, rubbing his eyes as he looked away from the live feed. It was about time he got to bed.

There weren't exactly convenient bathroom facilities in the makeshift cells, but maybe the pirates should have thought of that before attacking his ship. Tony wasn't about to feel bad for them. And of course, this was only temporary; Happy would organize something more humane for them when they got back to the Tower.

And maybe they'd put some of them in cabins before then—locked in, of course. But sort of a reward for good behaviour or something.

o0o

“I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable earlier,” Bucky said as the door of their cabin slid shut behind them. They'd stopped for a quick dinner in the mess—just some sandwiches Steve had thrown together. Rhodey had been there too and had made a sandwich of his own, but no one had felt up to much conversation.

Steve frowned at Bucky, confused. He couldn't figure out what he might mean.

“In the infirmary,” Bucky clarified, sitting in the desk chair to pull off his boots, and oh. Right. That. “I shouldn't have said anything; it upset you.”

Steve sighed, seating himself on the edge of his bed to pull off his own boots. “As I said before, if you want to say something to me, then I want you to say it. Sometimes that might make me uncomfortable if I'm not exactly expecting it, if I'm not sure how to react, but that doesn't mean you should hold back.”

Bucky's smile was sad, even wistful, as he looked back at Steve while tucking his boots into the corner, and Steve wondered what the hell he was supposed to say or do to make this right. He couldn't be Bucky's _master_. Bucky was free and should be free, just like every other sentient lifeform should be free. “I'm going to take a shower,” Bucky said, pointing towards the bathroom, “unless you'd like to go first.”

“No, that's—” Steve waved him off. “You go ahead.”

Bucky nodded and headed for the bathroom, and Steve stared unseeing down at his hands. Maybe it would help to have time to think. But he couldn't imagine how any amount of time would really change anything. Maybe in time Bucky would come to understand that he didn't need a master. But how long might that take? And if this was something familiar that would help Bucky feel safe...

“Bucky, wait,” Steve called, and Bucky turned back just before he would have walked through the door, expression expectant. “Maybe I could—” Steve looked away, trying not to blush; he didn't want Bucky to feel guilty about making him uncomfortable. Swallowing, he looked back at his friend. “I could be your CO again, if—if that's...” He didn't want to say 'enough' or any variation on 'instead.' “...okay.”

“Sure, Steve.” Bucky's smile was soft and warm. “That'd be fine.”

o0o

Winter shook his head as he adjusted the water temperature and stood under the running water. He'd taken the bandage off his face from where Creed had scratched him, and it was almost fully healed now, so he wouldn't need another one.

But—he shook his head under the hot spray—trust Steve to complicate everything. He couldn't just be Winter's Master, couldn't be something Winter _understood_. Maybe 'CO' could essentially mean the same thing—'Commanding Officer' did imply one who gave orders—and maybe it could mean the same to Winter, but he doubted it could ever mean the same to Steve.

But Steve was trying. He was trying so hard to do and be what Winter needed, and it was obvious that wasn't always easy for him. And Winter could only love him more for trying, earnest and honest and so often confused. But it was so frustratingly complicated, and Winter just wanted it to be easy. He longed for the simplicity of just following orders without having to think or question or consider things like his own pointless preferences. A rough laugh escaped his throat as he considered how Steve might react if he explained how _that_ was his preference.

But really, truly, _Steve_ was his preference. And that wasn't simple or straightforward like a choice between an apple and an orange—it had taken a while, actually, but he now understood that he usually preferred oranges, but sometimes he would rather have an apple. Everything about Steve was complicated in a way that should have been terrifying—and was, actually—but still filled him with longing to know more, to experience more. It was an ache in his chest, the feeling of a home he didn't remember, and it was all muddled and sharp—it was the heat and roar of an inferno so intense it barely gave any smoke. And maybe it wasn't even worth it, but he _wanted_. This was a dangerous thing Steve had taught him, this wanting.

As he ran his fingers through his hair to scrub the sweat off his scalp, he remembered Steve's hands in his hair. That had been wonderful, and he wanted that again.

He wanted a lot of things, but...that was something Steve had allowed him. Maybe he'd allow it again.

o0o

When Steve was done his shower, Bucky was sitting on the edge of the bed, turning a comb idly in his hands. He looked up at Steve, eyes wide with vulnerability—it was an expression Steve was starting to get used to seeing on his friend's face. “Could you...?” Bucky held the comb out. “Please?”

“Of course.” Steve took the offered comb and settled himself on the bed next to Bucky. Maybe the metal hand made it more difficult for Bucky to do it himself, but the reasons didn't really matter: this was something Bucky wanted, something Steve could do for him. Steve brushed one finger near the pink mark that was all that was left of the wound Creed had given him. “I'm glad your face is healing well.”

“Yeah, me too.” Bucky offered him a hesitant half-smile.

As Bucky relaxed under Steve's hands, Steve was struck with the guilty realization that he still hadn't managed to bring up the kiss. That was something he was supposed to talk about with Bucky, or so Bruce had said. He rolled the idea around in his mind for a bit, wondering if now would be a good time to bring it up. Bucky was pretty relaxed, so...maybe? It didn't seem likely that there'd be a better time, at least not soon. He cleared his throat. “Hey, Buck?”

“Hmm?” Bucky blinked sleepily at him.

And, God, of course he'd be sleepy; he'd fought off three of the five intruders nearly on his own—and one of the two Steve had taken out had surrendered, so that didn't really count, actually. Bucky was still recovering from, well, _everything_ , too. They'd had a couple of days to laze about and just goof off, but it would take more than that for Bucky to fully recover, even just physically, from what he'd been through. “You did good today, Bucky.”

Bucky grinned, half-closed eyes filled with warmth. “You helped.”

Steve remembered how he'd gotten distracted and waited too long to help Bucky, and blushed slightly, chuckling self-consciously, as he ran the comb through the hair at the back of Bucky's neck. He really hadn't been drawing much lately, but that could wait for sometime when he wasn't tired as hell. Even if he had little reason to be tired. “I guess I did, a bit.”

“Don't think I could have taken Creed down alone,” Bucky admitted, shrugging.

And that just made Steve feel more guilty, but he tried to sound confident and calm as he said, “We always did work better as a team,” because it was true. There were actually very few tangles in Bucky's hair, it having been combed so thoroughly so recently, and Steve was basically combing through hair he'd already combed. “I, uh, guess we're done here.”

“Thanks, Steve.” Bucky offered him a grateful smile.

“Hey, anytime.” Steve was struck with the sudden sharp desire to kiss Bucky's forehead, but...he really couldn't do that without first talking about that _other_ kiss. And first they needed to sleep.

o0o

Steve was walking through the unsteady, unending cars of a train, looking for Bucky. The train ran between two settlements on a planet that had once been important; there had been a mission. But Bucky was the only objective now. The cold sounds of wind filled Steve's ears and the metallic grinding of the wheels against the tracks hurt his teeth. His head was filled with thick syrup. He was somewhere he had never been. He was somewhere he had never left.

Phantoms he couldn't clearly see were shooting at him, but he blocked the shots with his shield and returned fire with the pistol in his hand. Regular rounds—ICERs hadn't been invented—but the phantoms didn't die. Or even bleed.

One stabbed him from behind with a stun baton, breathing, “It's nothing personal,” by his ear.

But when Steve turned and shot him, his eyes were cold and blue and hurt, and it was Bucky. And Bucky's eyes were frosting over like a winter windowpane, and his lips were stained blue as a Jotun's. And his hands were empty, the weapon he'd had just no longer there.

“Bucky!” Steve tried to yell, but his voice was a whisper, straining into nothing. He tried to run to his friend, but his legs were slow and unresponsive—as though immersed in freezing water.

Bucky was falling, so Steve leaped after him. It was the only thing he ever did, the only thing he ever could.

Steve was in some sort of large building with many corridors, its walls and floor all indistinct brown, like rust. There were orange-red sparks floating in the air and blackish smoke pooling around corners and through gaping door-frames. He had to find Bucky. Had to find Bucky before...

There he was, slumped against a wall, but that wasn't right—shouldn't he be laid out on a table? But Bucky was bleeding, and that was all that mattered. Steve fell to his knees at his side, his hands covered in Bucky's blood as it kept pouring from the massive gash in his neck.

“Please,” Steve begged. “Stay with me.”

“'S'all right, Steve.” Bucky turned lethargic eyes on him, offering a drowsy smile. “I'm okay; don't worry.” He lifted one arm to weakly brush at Steve's face with the backs of his fingers. “'M always okay.”

“But you're—” Steve tried to cover the wound with both of his hands, tired to hold slippery skin together with shaking fingers. “Please don't leave me, Buck. Please.”

“Couldn't leave you,” Bucky groused, turning his head away and hunching his shoulders. Blood soaked his uniform jacket till it was shiny like a bowl of smashed cherries. “Wouldn't know how.” He leaned against Steve, body limp as a puppet with all its strings cut. “'M right here, Stevie.” Blood was pouring from his mouth then, but he didn't seem to notice. “'M fine...”

“Bucky, _please_ ,” Steve begged, but Bucky was _gone_ , and Steve was alone in a puddle of dark red blood that glistened with the uncaring light of the fires. Steve couldn't breathe.

Howard was saying, “I'm sorry about your friend,” but Steve couldn't breathe.

He was surrounded by fire, and his lungs were freezing, and he had to find Bucky. “I have to find him—don't you understand?” he screamed, but Howard didn't understand. Everyone just stared at him as he stood there with blood dripping from his hands and ice in his lungs and sparks landing in his hair, and none of them understood: Howard, Peggy, Tony, Gabe, Dugan, Natasha, Happy, Monty, Pinky, Rhodey, Fury, Hill, Jim, Sam, Dernier, Arnie, Pepper, Bruce. None of them ever did.

He just needed to get away. Away from their too-gentle eyes and their uncomprehending sorrow. He needed to make it all stop, make it go away. He needed to find Bucky.

But he couldn't breathe.

He fell again, and something rushed up to meet him with dizzying, unyielding force.

And then someone was saying his name, worry shaking their voice, and Steve's shoulder and hip were aching dully, but he pulled himself up enough to blink in the dimness, and it was Bucky. Bucky reaching for him, so Steve took his hand to be sure it was real, and it was warm and strong, and Bucky was sitting on the edge of Steve's bed in their cabin aboard the Stark 1, so Steve rested his forehead against Bucky's knee and tried to calm his breathing. The warm, familiar scent of Bucky's skin helped. Bucky's hand in his hair helped too, and Steve should have batted it away and told him to get lost, but he didn't. He just needed...

He needed to be close, to _feel_ Bucky. More. Without letting go, he crawled up onto the bed beside Bucky, and buried his face in Bucky's shoulder as he waited for his breathing to return to normal.

He realized he was stroking Bucky's throat and pulled his hand away. Embarrassment twisting tightly in his chest, he mumbled, “Sorry.”

“It's fine,” Bucky protested, catching his hand in a deliberate grip. He put Steve's hand back against his collarbone and held it there for a moment. “It's fine.”

Steve laughed softly, ducking his head—Bucky's loose hair tickled his cheek as he moved. “Thanks.” Steve's voice was soft, a little embarrassed still, but relieved. He moved his hand to grip Bucky's shoulder briefly, between his neck and the metal he could feel through Bucky's t-shirt.

“Did you want to talk about it?” Bucky asked.

And Steve didn't, didn't even want to think about it, but...he sort of owed Bucky an explanation. “You were hurt.” He pointed towards Bucky's neck. “I, uh...the...” He shook his head, trying to dismiss the memory, the helpless feeling of dread. “Bleeding.”

Bucky nodded. “I'm sorry. I...” He looked away and his voice was small and a little vulnerable when he said, “I wish you could have good dreams.”

Steve smiled sadly. “Hey,” he said, squeezing Bucky's shoulder again. “At least I get to wake up to something good.” And he didn't have the nightmares often, not really, not anymore.

Bucky turned back and Steve could see his smile even in the darkness. “Always.” Bucky leaned forward just enough to rest his forehead against Steve's.

“Yeah.” Steve swallowed, closing his eyes and gripping Bucky by the side of his neck. “Always.”

They laid back down and Bucky pulled Steve against him so Steve's head was lying on his chest. Steve could hear his heartbeat. It wasn't exactly comfortable—the angle, the position of his body in relation to Bucky's and the bed—but it was comforting.

Steve wasn't sure if he'd be able to fall asleep again, wasn't sure if he wanted to risk another nightmare.

But he did, Bucky's heartbeat strong and sure in his ear and Bucky's fingers soothing and steady against his scalp.

o0o

“Good morning, sunshine.” Tony smirked at Skye who was rubbing her no doubt very sore neck while blinking her dark brown eyes at him. “Oh come on, don't be grumpy; you're actually going to like this.” Tony had been up since five making sure the cabin was entirely secure and un-hackable, so he hoped she really did appreciate it. JARVIS had informed him that Batroc was awake, but this was more fun, so the guy could wait until later to be interrogated.

“I will?” She stretched her neck to both sides and rolled her shoulders.

Tony grinned and bounced on the balls of his feet. “Yeah, unless you're actually a fan of sleeping on the cold, hard deck.”

She ran her fingers through her hair, pushing it out of her face and offered him a half-smile. “Can't say that I am, but it's not the worst place I've slept.”

Tony had slept in worse places himself, but it still wasn't on his list of things he'd try again for kicks.

She blinked at him again and sort of did a double take. “You're Tony Stark!”

He made a theatrical flourish with his hands. “In the flesh.”

“Wow, that's—” She stood up, awkwardly brushing at the wrinkles in her clothes. “I knew it was your ship, but actually meeting you...”

“And you're Skye?” He offered her a handshake. He was pretty sure meeting him didn't _quite_ rank with meeting Captain Rogers—who apparently warranted an automatic surrender, and that was fair—but he enjoyed the flattery nonetheless. “On account of your surrender yesterday and your general good behaviour since then, we're moving you to a cabin; you'll still be locked in, and you won't have access to any computers—well, you'll be able to talk to JARVIS, but I don't think anyone's capable of hacking him with their voice.” He fixed her with a look of intent scrutiny. “You're not, are you?”

She pulled back slightly, biting her lip and shaking her head. “No, I'd, uh, need a phone or something.”

Tony nodded, tugging at his shirt collar to straighten it. Good thing he wasn't planning on letting her have a phone in about _ever_. “But you'll have a real bathroom with an actual shower.” And the stocked kitchenette would mean less bother with actually feeding her.

“That sounds really good.” She smiled, eyes lit with genuine warmth. “Thank you.”

“Now,” Tony said as he turned away, expecting her to follow him out of the cell, “being a small ship, we don't have a whole lot of extra cabins.” Not a whole lot he wanted to remodel as secure hacker-safe luxury prison cells, anyway. “So is there one of your companions who you'd like as a roommate? You can say no and have the cabin all to yourself, too; it's really up to you.” Prisoner or no, it just seemed overly cruel to shut two people in together like that if they'd rather be alone. “Oh, and there is only one bed; big enough for two, but just the one bed.” That was probably an important detail to mention before she made a decision. And Rumlow was staying right where he was until they got back to the Tower, but Happy had agreed everyone else was an option. Though moving Creed might be tricky if he decided to be difficult.

“Felicia,” she replied right away. “If that's okay.”

Tony nodded. “It is indeed.”

Happy hovered, keeping a distrustful eye on Skye, as Tony led them to Hardy's cell. She, perhaps unsurprisingly given the way she'd flirted with him the day before, seemed a bit happier to see him than Skye had. Well, at least until Skye had realized who he was.

“Sleep well?” he asked, flashing her a mock innocent look.

Hardy rubbed at the back of her neck, wincing. “Not exactly.” Didn't look _too_ worse for wear, though.

“Well,” Tony said, motioning for her to follow him, “you'll probably sleep better tonight, because your friend here has requested you as her roommate in our newly-created luxury cell, complete with a real bathroom and a kitchenette.” He paused, giving her a considering look. “That is, if you're okay with it—there's just the one bed, and I'm not in the mood to install another one; the floor is carpeted, though.” And they could toss in some extra pillows and whatnot. “So it's still more comfortable than this.” He tapped his heel against the unyielding deck plating.

She flashed a smile at him and then a more sincere one at Skye who smiled back. “No, that's totally fine. Not a problem.”

“I won't be providing you with extra clothes,” Tony informed them as they walked through the corridors. “But there's a clothes cleaner in the bathroom, so you should be fine.” It's not like they had any clothing on board that was likely to fit either of them.

“Just as before,” Happy added, “if you need to contact anyone outside your cell, let JARVIS know, and he'll pass the message along.”

“Just don't expect me to referee fights over who gets the first turn in the shower,” Tony quipped.

“What makes you think we'll take turns?” Hardy asked, arching one eyebrow.

And, wow, that was an image Tony really appreciated.

o0o

When Winter awoke, Steve was still asleep and still had his head on Winter's chest. A spot of drool dampening his shirt was about equal parts endearing and gross. It was uncomfortable enough, though, that he would have liked to take the shirt off to get it away from his skin, but Steve was still sleeping—and apparently peacefully—so Winter stayed still.

Maybe ten minutes later Steve stirred, making snuffling noises, breath warm through Winter's shirt. Pushing himself up, Steve rubbed a hand over his face then turned to offer Winter an apologetic smile. “Sorry; I guess I drooled on your shirt.”

Winter blinked, looking down at his chest. “You did? I guess that's kinda gross.”

And Steve laughed, and it was worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on characters and canon:  
> The 'Wakandans' mentioned here are a group under the command of T'Challa aka “Black Panther,” based primarily on the kingdom of Wakanda as portrayed in 'Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes.'  
> 'Arnie' in Steve's dream is Arnie Roth, Steve's childhood friend in Earth 616 (where Bucky wasn't Steve's childhood friend, because he was a still a young child when Steve was an adult); here, Steve met Arnie during the First SHIELD-HYDRA War.  
> 'Pinky' in Steve's dream is Percival Pinkerton, one of the Howling Commandos in Earth 616; here, he was a part-time member of the Howlers (like Logan).


	10. Shouldn't Be Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are eggs over easy, Tony has the moral high-ground, and Happy wants a raise.

The mark Creed had made on Bucky's face was completely faded. It hadn't been deep or particularly bad, despite Creed's questionable hygiene. Still, it was a relief to see it fully healed. Before Steve could over-think it, he leaned in and kissed Bucky where the mark had been.

Bucky's quick intake of breath was quiet, but when Steve pulled back, bashful and trying not to blush, Bucky was radiating happiness. Steve still couldn't help explaining, “I don't want anyone to hurt you ever again.”

Oh, and the chances of there ever being a better time were pretty damn slim. So. Steve looked down at his hands in his lap. “Buck, I need—we need to talk about something. And...I'm sorry I didn't—” He rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I was supposed to bring this up sooner...I think.”

Bucky pulled himself up to sit against the headboard, and a quick glance at his face showed he was listening attentively.

Steve let out a breath, trying to calm his racing pulse. “The other day when...when you kissed me, I was just surprised. I didn't expect it, and I was just caught off guard and—it wasn't bad or wrong; it didn't offend me or anything like that. But now that I've had—” He smiled a rueful half-smile. “—probably a deal more time than I needed to think about it, and, well, I just need you to know that...” He took a breath. “That it's okay. Kissing, I mean. If that's what you want to do.”

Steve raised his eyes again, wanting to gauge Bucky's reaction. Bucky's face was painted with blank shock, and he said, “Oh.” But then he smiled, bright and warm like the dawn, and Steve couldn't help wondering why the hell he'd waited this long to tell him, because it was as if some terrible weight had been pressing down on him but was now lifted. “It is,” Bucky said, looking more solemn. “It is what I want.” And he smiled again, hesitant and a little crooked as he moved towards Steve, flesh hand warm on Steve's neck and metal hand cool through the fabric of his t-shirt, and kissed his cheek. And then his jaw. Bucky's stubble rasped against Steve's skin, but that wasn't so bad, and Steve had stubble of his own, so he couldn't complain. All the while, Bucky watched Steve as if to be sure this really was okay.

Steve grinned at him to show him it really was, then ruffled his sleep-messed hair. “Let's get ready for breakfast, all right?”

o0o

With Skye and Hardy settled in their cabin-cell, Tony figured he might as well go see how Batroc was doing. Steve hadn't yet emerged from his cabin, and Tony wasn't about to bother him when Steve didn't actually work for him; if Steve wanted to question the guy some more, he could do it later. Like, whenever he wanted, because it wasn't like Batroc was going anywhere.

Maybe it was a bit weird—not that Tony ever cared what was 'weird'—but it was kind of _fun_ , actually, to have prisoners. Not in an, 'oh, I should do this more often,' sort of way—not exactly. Just more of a, 'noticing the slightly disturbing positives of a situation that's happening anyway,' thing. And it really didn't seem like Tony was the only one noticing those positives; Happy was practically bursting with some sort of pride or something, because if he couldn't actually beat the crap out of the invading space pirates himself, being their attentive jailer was apparently the next best thing. Tony wasn't gonna judge.

As Tony and Happy approached Batroc's cell, Tony turned to Happy. “Hey, did you wanna do the asking questions thing for this one?”

Happy gave him a blank look. “It's your ship.”

“Yes,” Tony agreed, “and you're my head of security. I don't think it'd exactly be outside your job description.”

Happy shook his head, smiling a little. “It wouldn't, but you _want_ to do it. You're only offering to let me do it because you're being generous.”

And that was true, of course, but...

“Look,” Happy added, “I'll get to talk to him later, do my little jailer routine.” He nodded his head toward Tony. “You go do your Tony Stark, unimpressed genius playboy philanthropist bit—I'll wait outside.” He hefted his ICER rifle. “Ready to Ice him if he does anything stupid.”

One side of Tony's lips turned up. “I don't think I actually pay you enough.”

Happy shrugged. “Honestly, I'd watch your back just because you're my friend.” His grin was small and crooked. “I certainly wouldn't say no to a raise, though.”

Tony's brow furrowed, and he took a breath. “I'm not actually sure I'm authorized to give raises anymore.”

Happy chuckled. “No, you're probably not, now that I think about it.” He let out an exaggeratedly dejected sigh. “I suppose I'll be waiting a while on that raise, then.”

Tony quirked an eyebrow at him. “You mean you couldn't talk your wife into giving you a raise?”

Happy quirked an eyebrow in return. “This _is_ Pepper we're talking about.”

And, okay, yeah, that was a fair point.

o0o

While Steve was shaving at the bathroom mirror, Winter walked up behind him and slipped his arms around him, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck—giddy with being _allowed_ this. He'd helped Steve, comforted him, after his nightmare—he'd done well, and Steve was happy with him. And Steve smelled _so_ good fresh out of the shower, like everything wondrous and wholesome, like majestic power and terrifying grace held firmly in the righteous grip of gentleness. Like an angel—the kind that have to say, 'Do not be afraid,' because everyone just naturally _would_ be—might smell if angels were real. And had a smell.

Looking over Steve's shoulder at his reflection in the mirror, he saw Steve looking back. And smiling—a little bashful, but radiating affection like a godsdamned halo.

Winter smiled against the skin of Steve's neck, breathing in. “I like the way you smell.”

Steve laughed a bit, sounding surprised and slightly embarrassed. “That's good...I guess. And, uh, thanks.” His reflection grinned lopsidedly at Winter.

Winter wanted to hold Steve tighter, to press himself into that solid wall of reassuring power, but...no, not yet; Steve was still sore from the cracked rib. He let his hands fall to either side of Steve's waist and rested his forehead against Steve's muscular shoulder. “It is good—you're good.” He frowned, suddenly worried as he remembered. “How's your rib? You...fell out of bed last night...”

“Oh,” Steve said, surprised. “I'd almost forgotten about the rib.” He smiled. “It's fine; doesn't hurt at all anymore.” The smile became a grin, all warmth and happiness. “Must be fully healed.”

Well, that was good. But... “You should—your doctor, maybe you should talk to him about it.”

The corner of Steve's lips quirked up into a half-smile. “I suppose I should.” Setting down the razor, Steve turned to face Winter. “Ready for some breakfast?”

Winter nodded and they turned to leave the bathroom.

“Any special requests this morning?” Steve asked.

“Would you like me to cook?” Did that count as a 'special request'?

Steve paused near the cabin's door, turning to look at Winter. “Would you like to cook?”

“I—” Winter grimaced. The closest he'd got to cooking—that he remembered—had been preparing very simple things like crackers and cheese. Well, he remembered that he'd made soup that one time, but he didn't actually remember _making_ it. “I probably won't be very good, but I think I know how to make some basic things. Like scrambled eggs. And toast.” He made a frustrated sound, looking away. “If you told me what to do, it would be better.”

“Oh.” Steve let out a breath, understanding dawning in his eyes. Then he grinned, encouraging—trying to put Winter at ease. “Sure, I can walk you through it.”

Winter looked away again, suddenly ashamed and not sure why. “Sometimes I need that.”

But Steve put his hand on Winter's shoulder where it met his neck, thumb resting against his collarbone, and tried to meet his eyes. “Hey, it's okay, Buck; I'm your CO again, remember?”

And it's not like Winter actually remembered anything about the first time Steve had been his CO, but he remembered what Steve had said the previous night. He smiled softly at Steve. “I remember.” Then, after a pause, he added, “Captain Rogers, sir.”

Laughing, Steve looped his arm around Winter's neck, pulling him close to his side—just a little rough and filled with affection.

And suddenly the world was tilting, because this was what he used to do Steve, when Steve was small. Winter blinked to clear the haze in his eyes and found he had his flesh hand against Steve's abdomen for balance.

“You okay, Buck?” Steve's eyes were filled with concern.

“Yeah.” Winter shook his head. “It was just...a memory.” He offered Steve a hesitant smile, leaving his hand splayed against Steve's shirt because he liked having it there and Steve didn't seem to mind. “I used to put my arm around your neck...when you were smaller.”

Steve smiled, eyes warm. “You did, Buck.”

Winter frowned. “'Let's get you cleaned up'? I said that.” He turned a questioning expression on Steve then made a soft sound in his throat. “You'd been in a fight; you were hurt.”

Steve nodded, offering Winter a guilty smile and a bit of a shrug. “I got into a lot of fights.”

Winter's jaw hardened and he glared at Steve, suddenly angry. His nostrils flared. “You were small and frail.” He shoved Steve against the wall, hands against Steve's shoulders. “Were you _trying_ to get yourself killed?”

Steve just stared back at him, surprise clear in his expression.

“I—” Swallowing, Winter stepped back shakily. “I didn't—I shouldn't—” He shoved his metal hand through his hair, tugging a little until it hurt. He wanted to kneel, to beg forgiveness, but Steve didn't like the kneeling. He scraped his teeth over his bottom lip. “Your rib...”

“It's fine.” Steve was holding his hands up—a surrender. “I told you; my rib's fine. You didn't hurt me, Bucky—I'm pretty tough, okay?” He smiled a little crookedly, but there was worry mixed with the hope in his eyes.

Winter needed to be careful—Steve didn't know enough to be careful for himself, never had. And Winter had hurt him before. It was all too much, too loud in his head; Winter couldn't stop himself from shaking. “Please, Steve.” His voice was rough, breaking. “I just—I need you to tell me what to do.”

“Bucky.” Steve's voice had an edge of command, clear and sure. “Bucky, I need you to look at me right now.”

Winter met his eyes, because how could he do anything else?

Concern was flickering in Steve's eyes, but the set of his jaw was sure. “Good. Now breathe, Bucky; take some deep, slow breaths.”

Winter still wanted to kneel—maybe more so when Steve was like this, confident and commanding—but he focused on Steve's face and did as he was told. Steve was telling him what to do; that was important. That was good and right. His obedience was relief.

“Good.” Steve's voice was low, warm with approval. “That's good, Bucky; you're doing so well.”

The praise filled Winter's body with sweet, shimmering light. A soft whine escaped his throat.

“Hey.” Steve put his hand on Winter's flesh arm, his fingers soothing. “Talk to me: tell me how you feel.”

“Good,” Winter managed, offering Steve a look of gratitude. “Better.”

Steve's smile glowed with relief and affection. “That's good.” His fingers squeezed Winter's bicep gently. “Good enough to go have breakfast now?”

Winter nodded, returning Steve's smile. He wanted to hug Steve, so he did, and Steve's arms came up around him in response, sure and strong and warm. Pulling back after a short time, Winter glanced at Steve's face, a little nervous. “Can I still cook?”

“Of course.” Steve grinned warmly, leading the way through the cabin door and into the hallway. “You still thinking eggs?”

Winter nodded then asked, “How should I cook them?”

Steve shrugged. “It doesn't really matter; scrambled is fine.”

Winter gave him an unimpressed look, shaking his head slightly. “How do you like them best?”

Steve let out a breath then chuckled softly. “I suppose I've always liked over easy.”

Winter nodded. “You're going to have to walk me through that, or they might come out over hard.”

“I'd still eat them.” Of course Steve would, but that wasn't the point.

Winter rolled his eyes. “I know, but I want to do this _right_.”

“I know; I'm sorry.” Steve gave him an apologetic look. “Of course I'll walk you through it.” He shot Winter a soft smile. “Did you want to do all the cooking, or can I cut up some fruit or something while you do the eggs?”

Winter resisted rolling his eyes again. “Did you _want_ to cook?” All he really needed was the instructions; it didn't matter what Steve did while he gave them. Steve always made everything so damn complicated. But Steve would probably be more comfortable if he had something to do. “You can cut up fruit,” Winter told him. “Just remember to keep an eye on what I'm doing.”

Steve grinned cheekily. “Yes, sir.”

Winter blinked at him, a little lost. When had _he_ started giving _Steve_ orders?

o0o

Tony smiled mildly down at Batroc who was seated on the floor, leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest, glaring sullenly up at Tony. The pirate had tried speaking French—guessing correctly that Tony wouldn't understand most of it—but Tony had just pulled out his Stark Phone and run the automatic translator app, which was not only reasonably reliable for French to English, but was also pretty amusing when it got stuff wrong—or even partly wrong. He technically could have just asked JARVIS to translate, but JARVIS would have done a better job, and the translator app was funnier specifically because of the things it got wrong. Still, JARVIS' translation could have been funny too. But, sadly, Batroc had quickly resorted to speaking English like a normal person.

Tony was pretty sure everyone from Algiers Colony, much like everyone from Nouveau Canada, spoke English—some might speak it badly, but that was pretty common everywhere. Even freaking Jotuns spoke English. Well, the only one Tony had met did, but he'd been raised Asgardian and might have been using Asgardian 'magic' translation. The 'magic' was obvious bullshit, but their translation tech was still pretty darn good. Most of the time. Unless things like claiming tech was 'magic' was itself an error in the translation. Tony smirked at the thought.

Still, Batroc was speaking English—didn't seem too happy about having slept on the floor, but then who would be? Insisted he wasn't HYDRA, but then so did everyone.

“How do I know _you_ are not HYDRA?” Batroc snapped. Probably thought he looked and sounded impressively angry, but the effect was more petulant.

Tony shrugged, tapping his phone against his lips. “You don't.” He took a breath. “But you're the one who broke into my ship and attacked my friends, entirely unprovoked, so I _think_ I probably have the moral high-ground here.”

o0o

“How are the eggs?” Bucky asked casually enough, but there was a bit of hesitance in his eyes.

Steve grinned, because the eggs were great, yolks just the right amount of runny. “They're perfect, Bucky. Absolutely perfect.”

Bucky smiled, pleased and relieved.

“But I guess...” Steve added, poking at a piece of eggwhite with his fork. “I mean, if they weren't, it'd really be my fault, right?” He smiled lopsidedly at Bucky. “I was telling you what to do.”

Bucky stared at him a bit strangely for a moment, a little intense—like maybe he wanted to say something. But he didn't say anything.

Steve frowned slightly. “You okay, Buck?”

Dropping his gaze, Bucky smiled sheepishly. “Yeah.” Then he looked up again, warmth in his eyes. “I'm just...happy.”

Smiling softly, Steve reached out and brushed Bucky's hair behind his ear. “I'm glad you're happy, Bucky—that makes me happy too.”

Maybe it was kind of a stupid thing to say, but Bucky didn't seem to mind. He just turned his head slightly to kiss Steve's hand, keeping his eyes on Steve's face.

Steve couldn't help laughing, but Bucky didn't seem to mind that either.

o0o

“So,” Steve said as he was putting his breakfast dishes in the dish cleaner. “You feel up to lifting some weights or something in the gym today?”

Winter raised an eyebrow at him. “Do _I_ feel up to it?” He shook his head, offering Steve a half-smile. “A tiny scratch on my face wouldn't stop me, even if it wasn't already fully healed.”

“So that's a yes?” Steve turned toward him, eyes warm with amusement.

“You need to be careful,” Winter reminded him. Steve hadn't talked to or texted his doctor, not yet.

Steve nodded, offering Winter a lopsided grin. “You're right. I was thinking I'd just spot for you this time.”

Winter nodded as well. “That sounds good.” It would be the first time he'd been in the gym since injuring Steve. Steve had never said anything about it, but maybe that had been part of his punishment.

“I'm glad you approve.” Steve slipped his arm around Winter's waist and pulled him close, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheekbone where the scratch had been. “It was actually a pretty big scratch,” he said softly.

Winter swallowed. Steve's arm felt so good, so _right_ , around his waist. His voice was rough when he said, “It's all gone now, though.”

“I know.” Steve kissed the spot again then rested his forehead against Winter's temple. His voice was soft. “Good thing you heal fast.” But then he pulled back, eyes down as though guilty. He cleared his throat. “Let's—” He gestured towards the door. “Let's go then.”

Winter followed, brow furrowed as he considered what Steve could possibly be feeling guilty about. It's not like Steve ever seemed to have a shortage of invented reasons, but... As they walked into the gym, Winter put his flesh hand on Steve's arm. “Steve.”

“Yeah?” Steve turned to look at him, expression expectant. But there was still that shadow in his eyes.

“What's—” Winter let his hand fall back to his side but kept his eyes on Steve's. “Is something wrong?”

“What do you mean?” Steve looked genuinely confused.

“You—” Winter shoved his hands into his pockets, ducking his head but still watching Steve carefully. “Something...seems to be bothering you.” When Steve's face was still blank with incomprehension, Winter added, “Since just before we left the mess, when you kissed me.”

“Oh.” Steve sat down on a nearby bench, letting out a breath. He clasped his hands in front of himself, forearms resting on his knees. A flash of distress showed in his eyes and he quickly said, “It's nothing you've done, Buck; it's—” He blew out a breath through his lips and looked away then looked down at his hands. “I guess it's just a bit weird, bein' thankful that some evil HYDRA scientist shot you full of some knockoff serum back during the war. He...he _tortured_ you, Buck. He hurt you and—” His voice broke.

Winter sat down on another bench, facing Steve. “I don't actually remember any of that,” he admitted. Maybe it was better that he didn't. “But Steve...”

Steve glanced up at him.

“Is that evil HYDRA scientist the reason I'm alive today?” He was pretty sure he knew the answer, but this was important. More important for Steve than for him. “The reason I didn't die when you thought I had?”

Looking down, Steve nodded jerkily, misery in the set of his mouth.

Briefly, Winter pictured himself sliding smoothly off the bench to kneel before Steve, face upturned. He wondered how Steve would react, wondered if it would be okay. But it probably would make Steve blush, flustered—awkward and uncomfortable. That's not what Winter wanted, not now. So he just said, “I'm glad he did it, too. I'm glad I heal fast, that I'm fast and strong. I can use that to protect you, like I did when the pirates attacked.” Never mind that Steve could have taken them all on at once—and most likely won, even against Creed—had he been uninjured. There were other threats, worse threats.

Swallowing, Steve nodded. “That's what you said then.” He scratched at the hair on the back of his head. “When we finally got you to a doctor, and—they wouldn't tell me anything, but they told _you_ of course, what they could figure out about what'd been done to you and...you told me what they'd said.” He laughed softly, sadly. “You said you were glad he'd done it, 'cause you could use that right back against them.”

He didn't remember, but this Bucky guy seemed like someone Steve had needed. Still needed. He reached out and took Steve's hand in his flesh one. “And you shouldn't be alone.”

Steve lifted his head then to meet Winter's gaze, eyes damp. “I really don't think I deserve you, Buck.”

As if Steve didn't deserve so much better. As if Steve didn't deserve _Bucky_ , at the very least. Winter couldn't find words to respond, so he just squeezed Steve's hand tighter.

o0o

Tony was eating lunch with Rhodey when Rogers and Barnes walked in. Turning to Rhodey, Tony asked, voice pitched low enough that even the supersoldiers shouldn't be able to hear it, “Is it just me, or is Barnes actually getting hotter?”

Rhodey laughed softly, shaking his head then shrugging. He pitched his voice low as well. “I think he's doing something different with his hair?”

“Right,” Tony said. Less of a stringy, 'I don't care if I look like a hobo' look. “And shaving too, I guess, though I think I may have preferred all that scruffy stubble, personally.” He paused, thoughtful. “And he's not exactly Mister Giddy Joy or anything, but...he seems happier?”

“Well, that makes a lot of sense, actually.” Rhodey took a sip of his water, regarding Tony over the rim of his glass. “Considering where he was when you first met him.”

Tony nodded. It did make sense. Still...well, never mind. It wasn't any of Tony's business. “Hey, Rogers, Barnes,” Tony called.

The two men turned toward Tony. “Yeah?” Steve said.

“Do you guys want to join me for daiquiris this evening?” Tony offered them a slightly crooked smile. “Everyone who's actually supposed to be on board my ship will be there.” He grimaced slightly. “That is if I can convince Happy...and you two. I mean, the only person I've actually got to agree to be there so far is Rhodey.”

Tony glanced sideways at Rhodey who smiled softly and shook his head then turned his attention to Rogers and Barnes. “You guys should come, really.” He grinned, folding his arms on the table. “I don't want to be the only one.”

Rogers and Barnes looked at each other, their faces wearing nearly identical questioning looks.

“What's a 'daiquiri'?” Barnes asked Steve. Because asking Tony—who was sitting right there and had brought it up—would have been totally weird.

“I think it's a sort of...alcohol,” Steve replied, shrugging one shoulder.

“Yeah,” Tony cut in, “it's rum, bananas—at least, I'm using bananas—lime, coconut milk, crushed ice... It tastes really great; I think you guys would like it.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “And if you don't, I promise I won't get offended.”

Rogers and Barnes looked at each other again. Finally, turning back to Tony, Steve said, “Sure, Tony. What time did you want us to come by?”

“Seven?” Tony raised his eyebrows questioningly. “That work for you two?”

Rogers looked at Barnes again, but Barnes was just looking back at Rogers. Turning back to Tony, Steve nodded. “Sure; we'll be there.”

It was too bad, really, that those two's telepathic link couldn't be expanded and exploited to work as a lie detector.

o0o

“So I assume Happy's filled you in on the pirate situation.” Tony nodded toward Pepper's holographic image where it floated in the middle of the lab. He was tinkering with the beginnings of what might eventually become a lie detector. It's not like they hadn't been invented long before, but no one had yet been able to make one that was actually reliable. At least not all the time. And what good was a lie detector that only worked part of the time? Wasn't that the same as just guessing? But maybe he could find a way around the inherent flaws in the previous designs. Maybe.

“He has,” Pepper replied, nodding. “Maria has been organizing things here so there will be suitable holding cells for all the prisoners when you arrive.”

“Maria?” Tony quirked an eyebrow. “As in Hill, as in our _newest_ member of security?”

Pepper's smile was perhaps equal parts longsuffering and indulgent. “Happy approved her promotion. And it's not like we aren't sure she's qualified.” Well, that was true; she'd been Fury's second, after all. Though, the fact that Fury himself was now _dead_ probably didn't reflect so well on her qualifications for 'security'. But...she'd helped Steve and Natasha take down Pierce and that whole 'Project Insight' mess, and Steve spoke highly of her and was pretty sure she wasn't HYDRA, so there was that.

“Oh, speaking of...” Tony smirked, glancing up at Pepper. “Did Happy mention he wants a raise?”

Pepper raised an eyebrow. “Was this your idea?”

Tony nodded his head slightly from side to side, expression thoughtful. “Kinda.” He frowned at the components in front of him. “Oh, I meant to ask: how are the new medical staff settling in? Carter and...Simmons, was it?”

“We haven't had any medical emergencies, but they've worked out a schedule with Bruce, and I haven't heard any complaints. Simmons is apparently something of a fan of Banner's.” A smile coloured Pepper's voice. “She's positively thrilled to be working with him.”

The corner of Tony's mouth turned up. It seemed he and this Simmons had something in common.

After a pause Pepper added, “Shannon Carter, Sharon's niece, has been spending a lot of time with Rhodey's kids.” Only one of 'Rhodey's kids', his son Michael, was technically his child, but Rhodey had been raising his niece alongside Michael since she was five.

Tony made a vague sort of grunt. Maybe Shannon and Michael together would be able to distract Lila with something other than getting underfoot in the lab. Not that the lab was ever a safe place for kids her age, no matter how fascinating it obviously was. What _were_ children supposed to do all day, anyway? “Pretty soon we'll have enough kids for an actual school—to keep our new prison company.” He turned his face towards Pepper's image, letting out a resigned sigh. “Since when did we become civilization?”

“When the rest of civilization collapsed?” Pepper's smile was a bit too...mysterious? But if it was important and he needed to know, she'd tell him.

Shrugging mentally, Tony bent his head back over his work. “So does that mean you're the Prime Minister?”

“Does that mean you're the king?” she retorted.

Tony didn't bother repressing his shudder. “Gods, I hope not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on characters and canon:  
> Michael Rhodes is Rhodey's son in Earth-83438.  
> Lila Rhodes is Rhodey's niece in Earth-616. Her mother was Rhodey's sister, Jeanette Rhodes.


	11. I'll Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a virgin daiquiri, some important questions, and enough concentrated diabetes to rot every tooth out of your head.

After they were done eating lunch, Steve turned to Winter and said, “I suppose I really should call Bruce...or at least text him.”

Winter suppressed the grin that wanted to twist his features. “Yes; you should.”

“We should be arriving at Avenger Tower soon—probably sometime tomorrow—and you'll be able to meet everyone.” The look on Steve's face suggested that was meant to be a good thing. “Hey, did you want to talk to Bruce today on holo?”

Winter ducked his head. He didn't particularly want to talk to Steve's doctor, especially when they were discussing the injury Steve had sustained at his hands, so Winter shook his head and hoped Steve wouldn't insist. “Can I take a shower while you talk to him?”

Steve nodded, offering Winter a small smile. “Of course you can.”

o0o

“Steve, it's good to see you again.” Bruce's holo image smiled in the warm, reassuring way Steve had come to associate with the doctor. It really wasn't anything like Hulk's much fiercer smile.

Steve nodded, clearing his throat. “Sorry I haven't called.” He scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Things have been...busy.”

Nodding, Bruce folded his hands on his desk—he was alone in his office, where he took most of his professional calls. “I heard about the attack; I was glad to hear no one was seriously injured.”

Steve nodded again; he was glad of that too. “Speaking of injuries, I'm pretty sure my rib is fully healed.” He grinned awkwardly. “Bucky's been bugging me to talk to you about it instead of just assuming I can go back to normal—wouldn't let me lift weights with him today.” He laughed quietly. “So here I am.”

Bruce smiled softly. “So you're no longer in any pain, not even a slight discomfort when you move?”

Steve shook his head.

Bruce sat forward in his chair. “What about sitting up from lying flat on your back? Any discomfort then?”

“You mean like a situp?” Steve hadn't done any sort of exercise since the injury, but sitting up in bed probably counted too.

Bruce nodded.

Steve frowned, trying to remember. “I guess I haven't done that lately.” Since the injury, he'd been careful to roll into a sitting position rather than try to sit straight up, something he'd learned to do after the _first_ time he'd ever broken a rib. And that morning he'd woken up on Bucky's chest—not a detail he really wanted to share with Bruce. And it didn't seem important. Falling out of bed in the middle of the night though... “I, uh, kinda fell out of bed last night—had a nightmare. Anyway, my hip and shoulder hurt a bit when they hit the floor, but I didn't feel anything from my rib.”

Bruce nodded again, glancing down at his folded hands. He looked up once again. “It does sound like your rib is fully healed, Steve.” A small smile. “Definitely enough to start lifting weights again, so long as you have a good spotter.”

Steve grinned, relieved. “Thanks, doc.”

Bruce looked thoughtful. “How are things with Bucky?”

“Good; they're good. I, uh, finally got around to talking about the...” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “The kiss. This morning.” His felt himself flush. “But, yeah, that really helped. So, thanks for the advice.”

Bruce smiled warmly. “I'm glad I could help.”

Bruce signed off, telling Steve to take care of himself, and Steve felt a little like laughing, because he had Bucky taking care of him again. It was...nice. Something he'd usually found annoying before, back when he'd sort of needed it more, but now it was mostly just...comforting. It wasn't exactly like it was before, of course; Bucky's freakout that morning underlined that pretty solidly. But it was more than he could have hoped for. And it was really nice.

o0o

As Winter stood under the water—he was clean, but wanted to be sure Steve had enough time for his conversation with his doctor—his mind slid back to that morning at breakfast. Steve...understood. Maybe he didn't understand everything fully, but he got the most important bit, something Winter himself hadn't even fully put into words himself before. So long as he followed each of Steve's commands and was truly obedient, then the results were not his, but Steve's. The good as well as the bad, but he didn't need credit enough to demand blame. He didn't _need_ credit at all. And maybe that was why Steve was so reluctant to give him orders—maybe Steve didn't want the blame. Or, perhaps more likely, didn't want the credit? But Steve was his...CO—that's what Steve was. And it was enough. Should be more than 'enough,' really. For all his hesitance to give orders, Steve was far more qualified than most to be someone's CO, having led his followers to decisive victories in three wars.

And Bucky had followed Steve in the first of those wars. Maybe Bucky had always followed Steve. Maybe that's why it felt so right—some faint ghost of Bucky, still lurking in Winter's head and hoarding tattered bits of memory. He rubbed his flesh hand over his face. It was stupid, but he missed Steve. He wasn't sure how long he'd been in the bathroom, but certainly not long enough to feel sad about it.

As Winter turned off the water, he listened carefully, but he didn't hear voices from the other room. Steve was probably done the holo call then. He could get dried off and dressed, and maybe Steve would comb his hair. Probably would, since he should look presentable for that evening.

o0o

Unsurprisingly, Rhodey was the first to arrive at Tony's cabin that evening, smiling an easy greeting as Tony ushered him in.

Happy arriving next was a little more surprising, since he hadn't said for sure he'd be there.

Tony grinned. “Come on in—have a seat, and I'll get you a drink.” As he was making the drink he added, “The bananas are pretty good quality; I think you'll enjoy that.”

Settling himself on Tony's couch, Happy shot Tony a look. “You told Pepper I wanted a raise?”

Tony just grinned, handing him the daiquiri. “That was just, like, two hours ago; you two talk to each other a lot.” Apparently several times a day. And it was probably more like three hours ago—or five?—that he'd talked to Pepper himself.

Accepting the drink, Happy shrugged. “That's part of being committed.”

“One reason you're not committed, Tony?” Rhodey grinned at him over the rim of his glass.

“Hey,” Tony protested. “I like to talk.” Weren't Rhodey and Happy usually annoyed that he talked too much?

The door's chime cut off whatever anyone would have said in response, and Tony went to greet Rogers and Barnes. “Come on in. Have a seat—make yourselves comfortable.” Tony gestured grandly to his not-really-all-that-impressive living room. He had two couches—though one was only big enough to seat two—a couple of chairs, a coffee table, and of course the bar. There wasn't really room for much else. It was all nice enough, but not nearly so grand as his home at the Tower. He had a formal dining room there and a freaking ballroom. Not that he'd had many occasions to host balls, but still. It was there.

Rogers and Barnes, unsurprisingly, sat together on the smaller couch, close enough that their shoulders and knees were brushing. It was cute, really, and definitely less awkward than if they'd tried to share a chair. Which, well, he wouldn't put past them. But the mental image of Barnes perched...wait, no, _draped_ —Barnes would most likely drape—over Steve brought a smirk to his face.

o0o

Steve took a sip of the yellowish slush and choked, blinking. He admittedly had never had rum before, and the flavour—since he'd had everything else Tony said he'd put in the drink before, so rum must be what he wasn't recognizing—wasn't quite what he'd expected. Quite a lot more bitter, and just...overpowering.

Tony raised an amused eyebrow, grinning around the rim of his own glass. “Not a fan, Rogers?”

Steve ducked his head, a little embarrassed. “It's fine. I just—I suppose I'm just not too partial to rum.”

Beside him, Bucky was chuckling softly, so Steve turned, watching as Bucky took a large swallow of his own drink. “I like it,” Bucky said, flashing Tony a crooked smile.

“Good man.” Tony gestured with his drink towards Bucky. “Good to see all my hard work being properly appreciated.”

Bucky and Steve were already sitting close enough that they were touching, but Bucky leaned slightly against Steve as he nodded at Tony. He put his flesh hand casually on Steve's knee. “Steve's just a little picky sometimes.”

Tony snorted, muttering, “'Understatement'? What 'understatement'?”

Beside Tony, Rhodey rolled his eyes a bit, turning his own glass in his hands. “It is possible to make the daiquiri without the rum.”

“Yes, very true,” Tony said decisively. “Rhodey, you wanna make Steve a virgin daiquiri?”

“I don't need...” Steve tried.

But Tony shot him a look. “No one asked you, Rogers; you're getting a virgin daiquiri—I didn't buy all these bananas just to look at.” Because apparently just _eating_ the bananas was out of the question...

Setting his drink down on the coffee table, Rhodey heaved a longsuffering sigh as he stood up. “I thought _you_ were the one playing bartender, Tony.”

“And I thought I was your boss,” Tony shot back.

“Technically, Pepper's my boss now.” Rhodey grinned as he started preparing the drink.

Tony raised an eyebrow as he took a sip of his own drink. “You don't think she'd fire you if I told her to?”

Rhodey shook his head, grin filled with quiet confidence. “I really don't.”

Happy snorted from where he sat on Tony's other side. “Right, like Pepper would ever fire Rhodey. She'd sooner fire _me_.” And then he suddenly looked more serious as if he were considering how true that might actually be.

Tony turned his glass slowly in his hands, expression considering. “I could fire Pepper.” He looked up. “No, hear me out: I fire Pepper, fire Rhodey, give Happy a raise, then re-hire Pepper...”

Happy rolled his eyes, angling himself away from Tony as if to disassociate himself. “Just give it up, Tony.”

Tony took a swallow of his drink, leaning back and glaring a bit from under unimpressed eyelids. “I could drop you all off at the next port; JARVIS could fly the ship. Technically, I don't need any of you.”

“Tony...” There was gentle warning in Rhodey's voice as he walked across the room from the bar to where Steve was sitting. Stopping in front of Steve, he held out the new drink.

Steve took the offered drink, smiling at Rhodey and saying, “Thanks.” But then he had two drinks and his hands felt awkwardly full.

Bucky reached over and took one—the one with rum—from him. “Since you don't like it anyway,” he said with a small shrug.

Tony was staring at Steve and Bucky, eyes slightly narrowed, but then he shook his head and looked away. “Fine.” He smiled lopsidedly. “I just like to feel important is all.”

Sitting back down next to Tony, Rhodey patted him on the knee before scooping his own drink back up from the coffee table. “You are important, Tony.” Then he grinned. “Just maybe not as important as you sometimes think.”

They were quiet for a while as they all sipped their drinks. And the daiquiri really was better without the rum.

“So,” Tony said, looking at Steve expectantly. “How's the virgin?” He paused, visibly trying to hold in laughter and nodded toward the glass in Steve's hands. “The drink, I mean.”

Rhodey kicked Tony in the ankle, but he just ignored it.

“It's good,” Steve answered, taking another sip and offering Tony a smile. It was very clear what Tony was implying, but it didn't matter. Tony was his friend, and teasing was his way of being friendly. And there wasn't anything wrong with being a virgin, despite Tony's teasing. Just like there wasn't technically anything 'wrong' with being...like Tony.

“Yeah,” Tony grumbled, looking down at the drink in his hands. “You probably just think Rhodey's a better bartender than I am.”

“Oh, come on now,” Rhodey protested. “I haven't had _nearly_ as much practice.”

Tony grinned at him. “But you had a great teacher.”

Rhodey, Tony, and Happy all laughed. Steve smiled, taking a sip of his drink.

“If it helps,” Bucky said, setting aside one empty glass—Steve wasn't sure whose it had been to begin with, “I think you're an excellent bartender.”

Tony grinned, broad and bright. “Perfect; you're perfect.” Turning to Steve, he said, “Your boyfriend is perfect, Rogers...in case you somehow hadn't noticed.”

Steve smiled, resisting the urge to duck his head as he felt his cheeks heat a little. He turned his head towards Bucky instead and said, “I noticed a long time ago that he's pretty amazing.” Finding Bucky's hand, he took it and gave it a squeeze.

Tony cleared his throat then said casually, “So...you guys are official now, then?”

“Tony...” Rhodey said, an edge of warning in his voice.

“Hey, Tony,” Happy said, holding up his empty glass. “How about you get me a refill?”

But Steve had to wonder, were they 'official'? He'd talked about the kiss, and now they would kiss from time to time, but was that what Tony meant? Maybe he'd missed some important...something. Was this a relationship? _That_ sort of relationship? That was...probably something else he was meant to discuss with Bucky. But he was just doing what Bucky wanted—that's why they were kissing, after all. He couldn't put pressure on him for more than that when Bucky was still just re-learning how to make decisions for himself. So for the time being they were...friends...who kissed sometimes, and who shared a bed, and...possibly a few other things that were less common and expected for 'friends' to do.

Bucky had always been different; he was Steve's oldest and closest friend, and they'd been through so much together. It had never mattered before that they were closer than most friends, so why should it matter now?

o0o

“I swear those two still aren't screwing,” Tony said, staring at the door that had just closed behind Rogers and Barnes as they left Tony's cabin. Happy had left just before them, so it was just him and Rhodey.

Rhodey turned, giving him an incredulous look. “Really, Tony?”

“No, hear me out.” Tony ran a hand over his goatee. “That man, Steve Rogers—I'm pretty sure he's never had sex. I mean, I like to imagine him having sex, because, yeah. But I'm still kinda having trouble imagining him _actually_ having sex.”

Rhodey shook his head, letting out a sigh, as he moved about the cabin, collecting empty glasses to put in the dish cleaner. “You spend altogether too much time thinking about other people's sex lives—you know that, right?”

Tony gave him a look as he started tidying the bar. “So?”

“So it's kinda creepy.” Rhodey grinned, though, so it couldn't be all that creepy.

o0o

As they were getting ready for bed, Bucky was quiet, watching Steve thoughtfully. Finally, he sat on the edge of the bed, hands clasped loosely between his knees and asked, “Am I your boyfriend?”

Steve should have said something like, 'Do you want to be?' He should have been expecting the question—he'd just been asking it himself!—and had some sort of response prepared. Instead, he just stared dumbly from where he stood by the closet, mouth gaping.

“Tony called me your boyfriend,” Bucky said quietly, cautiously. “And you seemed to agree with him. I was just wondering if that's how you see me.”

Steve let out a breath as he crossed the room to sit carefully on the bed next to Bucky. “I...I'm not actually sure,” he admitted. “I think of you as my friend,” he quickly amended. “My best friend.” He let out a breath, pushing his fingers through his hair. “But now...you're my best friend...and sometimes we kiss. And I know that's not really something friends do...usually. That I know of.” His mind helpfully supplied an image of Tony and Rhodey kissing, but he shoved it away—that was either kind of disturbing or kind of funny...or both, but either was just a distraction. That was the sort of thing Tony thought about, by his own admission, but Steve had more important concerns. “But, Bucky, it doesn't matter to me what label we use, so long as you're comfortable with...everything. If you want me to call you my boyfriend, then I will, but I really don't want you to feel like you have to be something or do anything you don't want.”

“I—” Bucky's voice shook little and he took Steve's hand in his flesh one, grasping it tight. “I'm pretty sure that is something I _do_ want, Steve.” He offered Steve a hesitant smile. Then, looking away, he let out a breath and his shoulders sagged a bit. “But I've never been anyone's boyfriend before—at least not that I remember. And I don't...I don't know—”

“Hey, Bucky.” Steve took his face and turned it back so he could look into Bucky's eyes again. “I don't expect anything from you, okay? I'm pretty sure I actually just said that, and I'm sorry if I wasn't clear.”

Bucky closed his eyes, resting his head against Steve's hand where it still lay against his cheek. “No, you were clear.” He smiled softly, opening his eyes partway to look at Steve. “It's just...hard for me, sometimes—I... _want_ things now, things like this: like being your boyfriend.” He smiled again, sadly. He looked like he was searching for words, but then he just made a soft frustrated sound, pressing his lips together.

“I know it's hard,” Steve assured him. “I get that; I see that. But you're doing _so_ well.” He let his pride and joyful relief shine in his face for a moment. “Some terrible people hurt you pretty bad.” Took Bucky away and hurt him, and Steve had thought he was dead, and that had been horrible. “But you're getting better—every day, I see you getting better: more relaxed, more confident. They thought they'd broken you, but they didn't understand just how strong you really are.” His jaw hardened, and his voice roughened. “And that's all on _you_ , because God knows I don't have any idea what I'm doing here, trying to help you.” He swallowed past a tangle of emotion in his throat. “I'm so damn proud of you, Bucky.”

Bucky smiled, broad, a little surprised and a little nervous, but clearly happy. He looked down, eyelashes soft semicircles against his cheeks. “Thanks.” His brow furrowed and his metal hand flexed against his thigh. “I've been trying...”

“I know.” Steve slid his fingers through Bucky's hair, tangling them a little at the base of his skull to hold on—Bucky always seemed to like it now when Steve touched his hair. It always seemed to calm him, and right then he was a bit agitated, so maybe it would help.

Meeting Steve's eyes once more, Bucky smiled again then slid his metal hand to the back of Steve's neck—fingers smooth and cold against Steve's skin—to pull their mouths together. His mouth was soft and damp and tasted faintly of rum and bananas—he'd drank at least three daiquiris, maybe four? It was the first time they'd kissed on the mouth since that very first time, and Steve wondered if maybe that was important. Was this their real 'first kiss' since he wasn't pulling back this time? It's not like Steve knew much about kissing; he'd only kissed Peggy a couple of times. But she'd seemed pleased with...whatever he'd done. At the time, he'd just followed her lead, so he followed Bucky's as well.

Bucky didn't seem to mind. His tongue was moving eagerly against Steve's lips which were suddenly hyper-sensitive to the wet heat and the roughness of it. Steve gasped slightly, shivering, and Bucky chuckled, grinning against his mouth. But then Bucky was kissing him again, and dizzying warmth bloomed in his chest. Bucky sucked Steve's lower lip into his mouth—and nipped at it with his teeth. It didn't hurt, exactly, but he made a surprised sound then realized—embarrassed—that he had Bucky's hair in a tight fist, so he loosened his hand and stroked his fingers over Bucky's hair in apology, saying, “Sorry.” His voice came out a bit tangled. He continued stroking Bucky's hair—he wasn't sure what else to do.

“Sorry for what?” Bucky asked, forehead pressed against Steve's and cool metal fingers a gentle weight on his neck.

“I—” Steve made a quiet, rough sound in his throat. “Did I hurt you?”

Bucky chuckled, low and warm. “It felt _good_ , Steve.”

“Pulling your hair felt good?” That seemed...unlikely—wasn't hair-pulling meant to hurt?

Bucky chuckled again, running his metal fingers across Steve's scalp. “If your hair was a bit longer, I'd show you, but you don't have enough here for me to get much of a grip. It only hurts if you do it too hard.”

“Okay.” Steve felt a bit shaky, like he wanted to just relax against Bucky, maybe fall asleep on his chest again. But this was important: “You'll have to tell me if I hurt you, Buck; I—I'm a lot stronger than I was when we were kids—I don't know if it was even possible for me to hurt you then, but now...” He let out a breath, closing his eyes. “I just don't wanna hurt you.”

Bucky was quiet for a while, just resting his forehead against Steve's, metal hand curled around the back of Steve's head. Finally he said, “Okay.”

“We should probably get some sleep.” Steve shifted back a bit, brushing his thumb over Bucky's cheek. It was late, and socializing with Tony was always exhausting. More so with alcohol involved.

“Okay.” Bucky gave him one more quick kiss then moved to lie down on his side of the bed.

Steve crawled into his own side of the bed, asking JARVIS to kill the lights and lying on his side facing Bucky. He reached out a little tentatively to lie his arm across Bucky's midsection, just wanting to feel the solid, real warmth of him, and Bucky responded by turning onto his side, shifting back into the curve of Steve's body. Steve wrapped his arm across Bucky's chest, pulling him back more firmly against him and asked, “This is...okay?”

“This is perfect.” Bucky's voice was warm, reassuring.

Steve allowed himself to relax, chuckling softly as he moved his head on the pillow so Bucky's hair wouldn't tickle his nose too much. “It's sort of opposite to how we used to sleep sometimes, when we were younger.”

“I used to cuddle you?” There was a hint of a smile in Bucky's voice.

Steve shrugged the shoulder that wasn't pressed against the mattress. “Yeah, when it was cold; you'd help keep me warm.” He tried not to shiver at the memory of how cold it could get on New Brooklyn, especially that first winter after his mother died. They'd barely had money for food let alone heat. “Might be the only reason I'm still here, actually.”

Bucky put his flesh hand over Steve's, holding it against his chest. “I'm glad I was able to do that for you, Steve.” He let out a breath. “And...I'm sorry I don't remember doing it.”

“Not your fault.” Steve shifted closer—they were already touching, but he pressed closer against Bucky's welcomingly warm and reassuringly solid form. It felt nice. It felt a little like...home.

“I know.” After a moment, Bucky chuckled softly. “I think I just want to remember because it'd be nice for me.”

“Nice to remember me bein' sick?” Steve grinned lopsidedly in the darkness. He knew it wasn't exactly fair, but he couldn't resist.

Bucky made a soft, exasperated sound. “Nice to remember _cuddling_ with you.”

“Okay.” Steve laughed softly, tightening his grip on Bucky once again. “I hope you do remember, then.”

“Even if I don't,” Bucky replied after a short pause, “I'll remember _this_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even more fanart!!! (that I've been forgetting to link, but now I remembered, so booyah!)  
> "[Stark 1](http://gastfyr.tumblr.com/post/93235735764/valentaku-stark-1-draft-two-i-only-have-like)," an amazingly awesome drawing by [valentaku](http://valentaku.tumblr.com/). I am completely floored that someone I don't even know irl just randomly made unsolicited fanart for my fic! :D  
> An [earlier draft](http://gastfyr.tumblr.com/post/93217347605/valentaku-fan-art-for-the-fanfiction-winters) of the above (which still looks awesome, imo).  
> A set of [anime avatars](http://gastfyr.tumblr.com/post/92267725495/the-major-characters-of-winters-chains-winters) made by me. I was thinking of making another set for the pirates, but I haven't done that yet.


	12. His Own Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a Stark Phone, a sticker that says, 'Capsicle,' and a picture of Bucky as a dog.

They arrived at Avenger Tower mid-morning. Winter didn't have a lot of things to pack, obviously—his extra shirts fit easily into Steve's bag alongside Steve's clothes. It was his first time leaving the Stark 1 since coming on board, but Winter concealed his trepidation as they stepped through the airlock doors. Steve was with him; Steve was close enough to touch. He would be safe, because they would keep each other safe, even in this much larger environment with all these unknowns, all these unfamiliar people.

There was a woman with reddish-blonde hair pulled back into a soft bun introducing herself as “Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries,” and offering the expected courtesies, plus something about it being an 'honour' which made no sense until Winter remembered, finally, that she meant Bucky: it was an honour to meet Sergeant Barnes, hero of the First SHIELD-HYDRA War.

Winter tried for a polite nod. He wasn't sure if he was allowed to take Steve's hand—here, now, in this new place and in front of these new people.

The room—it must be a docking bay—was too big. Voices and footsteps echoed off the walls. Winter's head spun. There were too many people, too many possible threats. A sniper concealed in any number of positions could put a bullet in Steve's brain before Winter could do a damn thing. The desire to press Steve against a wall and shield him with his body was nearly overwhelming, but there were no walls near enough—the room was too large; all the walls were far away.

And then suddenly Steve was holding his hand, saying quietly, “Buck? You okay?”

So Winter had to take a shaky breath and nod and squeeze Steve's hand gratefully.

“The Tower can be pretty...overwhelming,” Steve said as he led him into a much smaller room, this one with some sort of reception desk. “It's big, there are a lot of people, and everything's...too bright.”

“Ah,” Tony said, stepping out from behind the desk. “Barnes, just the man I want to see.” He offered them both a broad smile, then held a brand new Stark Phone out to Winter. “This is for you. Please use it responsibly. Meaning...don't try to hack JARVIS with it.”

Steve was holding his flesh hand, so Winter accepted the phone carefully with his metal one. He glanced quickly at Steve, but Steve was all reassurance and affection, so Winter said, “Thanks, Tony.”

Tony grinned, tapping Winter's metal bicep companionably. “Don't mention it. And now I'll just let you two lovebirds get settled in.”

Winter carefully slipped the Stark Phone into the pocket of his sweatpants as Steve led him through the halls. No doubt once he was used to them the hallways would feel less daunting, but at that moment they felt like a maze—an unwinnable maze designed by a cruelly smiling scientist, and he the unlucky mouse, doomed to wander forever and starve. Tightening his grip on Steve's hand, Winter closed his eyes and shook his head slightly in an attempt to clear it.

Finally, they drew up in front of a door marked, 'Rogers, S.' in formal raised lettering under which someone had affixed a bubblegum-pink sticker proclaiming 'Capsicle' in bright blue. “That's, uh, Tony's idea of a joke,” Steve explained as the doors opened to let them inside. “And speaking of Tony, he said you can have your own quarters if you want—the ones right across the hall are even available—but he figured you'd—”

“Please.” Winter stared at Steve, once again tightening his grip on Steve's hand—probably too tight, but he couldn't help it. His mind was short-circuiting and he could even tell that it was, but knowing didn't really help. His legs trembled with the desire to kneel and beg forgiveness for whatever he'd done to earn a punishment. But that wasn't— What did Steve like? What did Steve want from him? Right, Steve always wanted him to _want_ things, so: “I—I want to stay with you.”

“Hey.” Dropping his bag at his feet, Steve turned and pulled Winter into a hug. “Of course, of course you can.” His fingers moved in Winter's hair, soothing. “I didn't mean—” He pressed his forehead to Winter's temple. “Gosh, I'm sorry, Buck. That was...that was a really stupid thing for me to say right now. I'm sorry.”

Twisting his hands in Steve's shirt, Winter rested his head on Steve's shoulder and just breathed in the beautiful, familiar smell of him. It was calming—reminding him where he was and more importantly with whom. “I'm sorry,” he finally said. “I'm sorry—I just...panicked.” He didn't want to admit just how broken he was, not after what Steve had said about him getting better and how proud he was. “I'm sorry,” he whispered again. But he was shivering, and Steve looked worried. “I'm just a bit—cold.” Because he _felt_ cold.

Steve asked JARVIS to turn up the heat and grabbed an oversized sweatshirt out of his bag and encouraged Winter to put it on.

So of course he _did_ , because Steve was his owner and his CO, so he had to wear whatever Steve told him to wear. The fabric was soft against his skin.

He let Steve lead him over to the couch, let Steve wrap him in a blanket, and relaxed against Steve's chest as Steve pulled him close. Steve was radiating glorious warmth like the most welcome of suns. Winter wanted to bask in his glow forever.

“I should have warned you about the docking bay,” Steve said, fingers stroking through Winter's hair. “But you're okay. You're safe. And you're doing so well.”

Steve still thought Winter was doing _well_? But if Steve said it, maybe it was true. And Steve was happy with him, so maybe it didn't matter. Winter put his flesh hand against Steve's chest, over his heart so he could feel the steady beat there. “I'm safe, because I'm with you; we protect each other.”

Steve grinned, bright and broad. “That's right, Bucky.” His hand was a welcome, warm weight against Winter's neck. “It's what we've always done.”

After a while, when he was feeling calmer—as though the ugly poison that had been burning under his skin had somehow bled out and been absorbed by the sweatshirt, the blanket, the couch cushions, and Steve...though of course, Steve seemed fine, so maybe he was immune like he was to most poison—Winter shifted so he could pull the new Stark Phone from his pocket. He frowned at it, then glanced at Steve. It was one thing for Tony to present him with something like this, but _Steve_ was the one who got to tell Winter what to do. “What can I do with this?”

“There's lots of things you can do,” Steve answered, pulling his own phone from his pocket. “You've seen some of the things I do with my phone, and you can do all of that on yours as well—it's not too difficult to figure most things out, but I can help you, and of course Tony could help you too. You can find pretty much anything you want to know on the internet, and there's games you can play, too, if you want. And of course you can call or text people, like Tony, Happy, Rhodey...me—if I wasn't already with you.” He rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Or, you know, even if I was.” He offered Winter a lopsided smile.

Winter nodded slowly. That was...far more freedom than he'd expected—though, this was _Steve_ , so maybe he should stop being surprised. In all the time he'd been with Steve on the Stark 1, he'd never asked to use Steve's phone or computer—those things were _Steve's_. But this...was apparently _his_. And he was being allowed to use it _however he liked_ , the only restriction being that he wasn't allowed to try to hack JARVIS. And technically, that had been Tony's restriction, so he probably didn't have to obey, but he had no reason to try to hack JARVIS—and Steve probably wouldn't be too happy if he did something like that without a good reason. Not that he would have much chance of being successful in such an attempt, anyway.

The only number listed in the contacts on his new phone was Tony's, but Steve wanted to add his own number, so of course Winter let him.

When he added himself to the contacts on Steve's phone, he carefully typed in 'Bucky' for the name—and it felt like a lie, but when he looked at Steve to see if he'd done it right, Steve was smiling, so it must have been right after all.

o0o

“Mister Stark!” an unfamiliar female voice called.

“Yes?” Tony turned to see a young woman, early to mid twenties, with light brown hair and pale skin approaching. “Something I can do for you?”

She offered him a nervous smile. “I'm Jemma Simmons. I'm a biochemist. I work with Doctor Banner in your science and medical division.” ' _Science_ and medical division', hey? But Bruce and his staff were pretty much free to call it whatever they liked. Her smile was brighter when talking about Bruce—but she was the Banner fan Pepper had told him about. She was wearing a muted lilac sweater over a white button up, and she kept tugging at the cuff of one sleeve with her other hand. “I understand that you have some prisoners aboard the Stark 1.”

He nodded. “We're in the process of moving them to cells here on the tower, but yes. Doctor Banner is supposed to see at least one of them today—is this about that?”

She grimaced. “Not exactly. I—you see, I heard that one of the prisoners is named Skye, and I was wondering if she might possibly be a friend of mine.”

Tony quirked an eyebrow. “She didn't give us a last name—pretty sure there's more than one 'Skye' in the galaxy.” Though, Tony could certainly sympathize with Simmons wanting to know if her friend was okay. He still had a few friends of his own out there, somewhere.

“Yes, sir.” She lifted her chin. “I understand that, sir. But I also heard she was a hacker, and...”

Tony really needed to have a talk with his staff about this whole gossip thing. Sure, Simmons was supposed to be one of the ones they could—probably—trust, but it was still not a great idea to tell everyone that JARVIS had been hacked. Even if Skye was probably the only one in the entire galaxy who could have done that. With a _phone_ , apparently. Pulling out his own phone, he pulled up a holo of Skye and gestured to it. “That your friend?”

Simmons' hands flew to cover her mouth, so at first she couldn't reply, but her eyes answered the question pretty definitively. Nodding, she finally pulled her hands away from her mouth and said, “So she's all right?”

Tony nodded. “She is—we only had...I guess _two_ injuries if you count a minor scratch that barely bled, and neither of them were her. She's currently a prisoner, but other than that...”

Simmons twisted her hands together in front of herself. “Thank you, Mister Stark.” He smile was broad and bright, but melted into a more hesitant expression. “Could I maybe...visit her? That's—prisoners can have visitors sometimes, right?”

Tony sighed, rubbing at his forehead. It seemed his new biochemist was close friends with a 'former' Rising Tide hacker who palled around with known 'former' HYDRA goons. But fine, yeah. Visitation for prisoners. That was a thing. “Talk to Happy, my head of security—you'll have to work out the details with him. But I'll let him know that I—” He waved his phone a bit, flicking off the holo. “That I okayed the visit, so it'll just be a question of when, not if.”

She smiled, bright and excited and relieved. “Thank you, Mister Stark!”

She looked about to leave, but Tony spoke again, gesturing toward her with his phone. “You arrived with Hill and Carter?”

She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Tony tapped the edge of his phone against his palm. “So you were SHIELD, same as them?”

“Yes, sir.”

He nodded. If all the good-looking SHIELD refugees kept showing up at his door, he wasn't about to complain. “And how are you finding the, uh, the adjustment to Stark Industries?”

She grinned, looking both nervous and excited. “I very much appreciate the quality of the labs here, and working with Doctor Banner is truly an honour.” Heh, kid in a candy store—Tony liked being able to impress scientists, and he knew his labs were pretty much the best in the galaxy. Unless you counted Asgard, but he wasn't sure anything on Asgard counted, especially things like _labs_. And they always had stupid, overly-poetic names for things, because gods forbid they ever admit they weren't still living in medieval times.

“Well, I'm glad things are working out for you.” He glanced down at his phone, checking the time. He should probably have some lunch soon if he didn't want another lecture from Bruce about how he couldn't survive on nothing but alcohol and coffee. Also, he was supposed to drop some bananas off for Bruce... “As I'm sure both Pepper and Bruce have told you, we're glad to have you.”

“Yes, sir; thank you, sir.” She was standing 'at ease' with her hands clasped behind her back.

“Well anyway.” He slid his phone into his pocket. “I have to go, but it was nice meeting you.”

She smiled. “I was nice meeting you as well, Mister Stark.”

“And I'm glad your friend is okay.” He offered her a soft genuine smile. He didn't know who Skye was or if he could trust her, but still.

And, speaking of the prisoners, he kind of knew what to do with at least one of them...if he could get in contact with Xavier. This was one time the Gifted's 'take care of our own' policy might work in his favour; let _them_ feed and house and possibly even rehabilitate Creed. That's what Xavier was all about, right?

o0o

As Steve started lunch for him and Bucky, he sent a quick text to Bruce, letting him know neither he nor Bucky was feeling up to a doctor's visit that day—he'd put his phone on the counter where he could see it and use it one-handed as he worked. He was stirring the soup when his phone flashed to let him know he had a new message. Continuing to stir, he reached over with his other hand and tapped the screen to pull the message up:

_That's fine and totally understandable. I'm busy with the prisoners today, anyway. If it would help, I could come by your place tomorrow sometime so you don't have to come to the lab?_

Steve took a moment to consider. Bucky might have an easier time seeing Bruce in their quarters than in the lab—the quarters weren't exactly familiar yet, but... Bruce would have an easier time doing his job in his own lab. Steve himself would be fine going to the lab, of course; he just didn't want to leave Bucky alone, and of course Bruce needed to see Bucky as well. Steve glanced at Bucky through the archway between the kitchen and the living room—he was still huddled in the blanket, head bent over his phone. Letting out a breath, Steve typed a response:

_How about we make an appointment for tomorrow and I'll let you know then about the location?_

He felt annoyingly indecisive and hoped he wasn't making things too inconvenient for the doctor. But Bruce's reply just said,

_Is 3pm okay?_

So Steve sent back,

_Yeah, that should be fine._

o0o

It only took Winter a few minutes to figure out how to access the internet on his phone. Steve had said he could find anything he wanted to know on the internet, but there really was only one thing he wanted to know right then: who the hell was Bucky? So, glancing up to make sure Steve was still busy in the kitchen and couldn't possibly see the screen of the phone, Winter typed, 'James Buchanan Barnes,' into the search bar and tapped the little magnifying glass icon.

The results were a little overwhelming. In addition to the expected historical articles, photographs, and vids of the actual historical James Buchanan Barnes, there were countless pieces of artwork and fictional stories in print, video, and even holo format—could have watched the holos on his phone, of course, but Steve would see that and ask questions, since there wasn't really a covert way to watch holos. An extensive list of feature-length films about Bucky—well, about Steve and Bucky and usually the rest of the Howlers, Peggy Carter, and Howard Stark—'based on' or 'inspired by' actual events, included both animated and live-action offerings as well as at least one done in stop-motion. Of course, there were also several documentaries.

The artwork, though, was fascinating to say the least. There were over one-hundred representations of Bucky as a woman. Well over one-hundred—he stopped caring what the number was when he saw it was more than one-hundred, because...well, it just didn't seem important. There were thousands upon thousands of artist's representations of Bucky in the nude, most of them grossly inaccurate if his current body was anything to judge by, but then these were all based on a guy who had two human arms, so maybe his current body wasn't a good guideline at all. Of course, many were of Bucky both female _and_ nude.

There were pictures of him as a _dog_. As a pony. As a dragon. As a cat.

There was a sketch of him kissing Sherlock Homes. A digital painting of him sharing a plate of spaghetti—'Lady and the Tramp' style—with Batman. A photo-manipulation of him marrying Buffy Summers, oh so cleverly titled 'Bucky and Buffy 4Ever'. And...well, what he was doing to Joan of Arc was a little disturbing, actually. Though maybe not quite as disturbing as what Marie Antoinette was doing to _him_.

It was the picture of him as Jesus, nailed hand and foot to the cross, bleeding from a wound in his side, head bowed and adorned with the crown of thorns while Steve and others he could only assume were meant to be the rest of the Howlers knelt at the base—Steve's tear-streaked face turned up and one hand laid reverently against the post as Bucky's bright red blood ran down to stain Steve's hand—though, that made him stop. This really wasn't helpful; he wanted to know who Bucky really was, not who and what a bunch of clearly insane teenagers thought it would be cool for him to be.

He went back to the historical stuff, websites that looked reputable. He couldn't properly watch the vids without headphones—would Steve give him headphones if he asked? Probably, actually, but he didn't want to seem secretive, like he had anything to hide. Still, there were gifs and other images, and he could watch the vids without sound. It just wasn't as useful as it would be with sound.

Much of what he read simply confirmed what Steve had already told him. Bucky was born and grew up on New Brooklyn, a poor colony in a neglected sector of space whose main industry was wheat farming. He was orphaned at fifteen and should technically have been placed in a foster home, but none were available, and apparently shipping him off-world would have been too much trouble. It was an oversight Winter was glad of, though, since who knew where he may have ended up? Instead, he simply moved in with Sarah Rogers, who then promptly died two years later, leaving Bucky and her own son alone.

Winter blinked, then leaned his head back against the couch, closing his eyes against the spinning sensation in his head. It wasn't like much of this was new, but seeing it all laid out starkly in black text... It felt far less _real_ than his confused snatches of memory—those were filled with smells and tastes and sounds. This was...colder. Too distant. And maybe a little like walking in on his own eulogy.

“Hey, Buck?”

Blinking again, Winter sat up, focusing his attention on Steve, flesh hand covering the screen of the phone, finding the button to turn the screen dark. “Yeah?”

“Food's ready.” Steve pointed with his thumb over his shoulder toward the kitchen. “I could bring it out here for you if you want.”

“Nah, that's fine.” Winter slipped the phone into the pocket of his sweatpants. He offered Steve a bit of a lopsided smile. “I can eat at the table like a civilized person.”

Since he was actually coherent enough to take in his surroundings, Winter finally really noticed how Steve's quarters at Avenger Tower were much larger than his cabin aboard the Stark 1. And how he had an actual couch, of course—dark blue and big enough for three average-sized adults to sit comfortably or one somewhat small adult to stretch out and sleep. A somewhat banged-up solid-wood coffee table sat just in front of that, smudged and spattered with paint, charcoal, and pastels. One of those angled artist table things lurked in a corner.

The full kitchen housed a full-size fridge, a standard-size oven, and a round green-topped table with four not-quite-matching chairs: two of the chairs matched the table, the other two—wooden, like the coffee table—simply matched each other. Soup and sandwiches waited on the table, and Winter's stomach growled, reminding him it was a little later than they would usually have lunch. Of course, that was his fault for throwing a fit earlier. Winter shoved his hair out of his face with his flesh hand. “Thanks, Steve; this looks great.” Before sitting down, he pulled Steve into a kiss, trying to seem less hesitant—more confident, calmer—than he felt.

o0o

“I just think everyone in the galaxy should have a Stark Phone,” Tony groused, slouching in the chair facing Pepper's desk. It was a nice desk, white and unadorned—it suited her and provided a nice contrast to her muted purple jacket. “It'd make a lot of things a lot easier.”

“Hmm, probably,” she agreed, glancing up at him from her computer screen. “Xavier, though...he's been off the grid for a while now.” Her brow furrowed slightly as her eyes scanned the page in front of her. “I'm trying to think of someone we know who might know how to contact him.” She looked thoughtful, tilting her head to one side. “Have you asked Creed himself?”

Tony hadn't actually thought of that, but... “I don't get the sense he and Xavier are on friendly terms.”

She nodded. “Perhaps not, but his brother _is_ on friendly terms with Xavier.”

Right, the brother. “Howlett, was it?” At Pepper's nod, Tony leaned forward, hands clasped in his lap. “Do we have a way to contact him?”

Pepper pursed her lips. “Sadly, no. As far as I can tell, he's never been _on_ the grid.”

Tony snorted. Well, that was just terribly convenient, wasn't it? “But you're thinking Creed might know how to contact his brother?”

Pepper met his eyes, offering him a half-smile. “It's worth a shot?”

o0o

After lunch, Steve showed Winter around the rest of his quarters. They weren't overly large, so far as quarters went, but the living room by itself was larger than Steve's entire cabin on the Stark 1. The bathroom was also a lot larger, with a full tub rather than just a shower and more counter space on either side of the sink.

“We should probably get you some more of your own stuff soon,” Steve said. “I mean, I don't mind you using my shampoo, but maybe you'd like a different kind or something.”

Winter shrugged. He couldn't imagine the kind of shampoo would make much difference so long as it got his hair clean, but maybe he should see if he could find out what sort of shampoo Bucky had preferred—assuming the brand even existed after seventy years.

“And of course,” Steve added, gesturing to the tub, “you can take a real bath too if you want. I usually just shower, but it's an option, right? And, uh...” He tugged a hanging towel straighter on the rack. “We could always get some bath-oils, bath-salts, or bubble-bath—things like that. If—if you wanted.”

Winter nodded, expression carefully neutral, reminding himself that options were supposed to be good.

The tub was, Winter noticed, technically big enough for two people to share—even people as big as him and Steve.

Last of all, there was the bedroom. A bed bigger than the one they'd shared on the Stark 1 dominated the room, and a large window on the opposite wall offered a view of the stars. A walk-in closet looked sorely underused, and Winter's few clothes—once all the clothes they'd brought back from the Stark 1 were put away—didn't help much. It seemed Winter wasn't the only one who needed some more of his own things.

“It's a pretty nice view,” Steve said, gesturing to the window. “Stars, and all.” He rolled his shoulders, a lopsided grin on his face. “But of course...” He stepped closer to the window. “You can draw the blinds here.” He pressed a control, and blinds slid smoothly to cover the window. “Or just ask JARVIS to close them—that works too.” His smile was awkward.

Winter wanted Steve to be more relaxed—he was likely nervous showing his home off, perhaps worried what Winter might think of it. So Winter smiled. “I like it.” Taking Steve by the wrist, he pulled him close and then mouthed at his chin, because, gods, he wanted to do that too. Steve's skin was still pretty smooth from shaving that morning, and he tasted good too—Steve always tasted good. “I like _you_ too.” He scraped his teeth over Steve's chin.

Steve laughed, the warm sound reverberating from within his chest and relaxing his shoulders in easy waves.

Winter found himself relaxing as well. At least he could make Steve laugh.

o0o

“Sorry t' disappoint you,” Creed said, not really looking sorry at all, “but I haven't the slightest clue how to contact my brother.” He scratched his claws through his scruffy beard. Somehow, Creed had managed to make his new 'cell' smell pretty strongly of himself in the short hours he'd been in it—it wasn't exactly an unpleasant smell, probably because Creed now had access to a shower, just a bit strong and it itched a little in Tony's nose. “He and I haven't been on friendly terms in...well, a lot of years.”

That was somewhat disappointing, but it had been something of a long shot. They'd just have to come at this from a different angle. Tony was about to turn to leave when Creed looked up at him.

“What do you want with Logan, anyway?”

“I'm actually trying to get in contact with Xavier,” Tony admitted, shrugging, hands in his pockets. “Thought maybe Logan would know how.”

“Ah.” Creed grinned. “Have ya tried thinkin' real loud?” He laughed. “Kidding, a'course—he couldn't hear you at this range.” Then he frowned thoughtfully. “Probably.” He exhaled loudly, shifting forward in his seat—apparently Hill had felt the prisoners should have actual chairs, though perhaps not the most comfortable ones available. “But I might be able to help you out after all.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, frowning slightly. “You know how to contact Xavier?”

“Nope.” Creed shook his head slowly, blond mane sliding against his broad shoulders. “But I know how to get ahold of Magneto. And—” He bared his teeth. “Magneto always knows how to contact Xavier, but he's a _little_ picky about who he gives that information to.”

Ugh, Lehnsherr, though; Tony would rather not have to deal with that crazy extremist if at all possible. But...he and Xavier did tend to work together. When they weren't fighting against each other. No doubt they were in one of their 'on again' phases, though, due to the whole HYDRA 'common enemy' thing. And Lehnsherr, for all his faults, was very likely to be _very_ anti-HYDRA, all things considered. Tony rubbed at his forehead. It probably was the best shot they had. “Okay, so how do I contact Magneto?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not quite fan _art_ , but a lovely and much-appreciated fanwork:  
> "[To Set a Doll](http://reafterthought.deviantart.com/art/To-Set-a-Doll-478005961)," a shape poem by [reafterthought](http://reafterthought.deviantart.com/) ([reminiscent-afterthought](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/1887842/)).


	13. The Bucky Steve Remembered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve is maybe flirting, Winter wonders if they're still talking about art, and there is enough sadness to crush your soul and grind it into a million flecks of space-dust.

“So.” Steve sat down on the edge of the bed, smiling up at Winter with shy amusement. “What did you want to do for the rest of the day?”

The question of 'want' stumbled over itself in Winter's brain. The main problem was he wanted too many things. But they were all Steve. The first thing that leaped to the forefront of his mind was, 'Whatever you want, Steve; just tell me what to do, and I'll do it,' but that very probably wasn't what Steve wanted him to say. And that was the perpetual problem between them, wasn't it?

But Winter couldn't just stand there staring dumbly at Steve; he needed to say or do something before Steve started worrying again. So he stepped forward until he was between Steve's knees, took Steve's face in his hands, and kissed him. He realized a little late, as he was pulling back, that he was shaking a bit—that he may have put a little too much of his desperate and confused _want_ into that kiss. And Steve was staring up at him with worry in the furrow of his brow and something that might have been a hint of fear in his eyes. As smoothly as he could, Winter changed tactics, moving to flop lazily down on the bed next to Steve—lying on his side, facing him. He tried for an unconcerned smile. “I guess I just want to be with you.”

Steve laughed softly, and that was a more _relaxed_ smile. Good. “That's fine with me.” His face was all fondness, eyes shining with bashful warmth as he looked down at Winter. “I want to be with you, too.”

Gods, Steve was cheesy when he was...flirting? Was this Steve trying to flirt? If so, it was _adorable_. Well, okay, it was kind of adorable regardless. He let some of his fond amusement show in his grin as he watched Steve. Then, after a comfortable silence, Winter casually said, “I never saw you draw while we were on the Stark 1.” He hadn't _realized_ Steve was an artist until he saw his Avenger Tower quarters, but it was better not to remind Steve right now of his faulty memory, at least not overtly.

“Oh, yeah.” Steve rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly, and he was _blushing_. That wasn't exactly the reaction Winter had expected. “I—” Steve let out a breath, looking away. “I had been meaning to ask you about that, actually.” He picked at a bit of lint on his pant leg. “I mean, I was going to ask you, but you have to understand...” He looked back at Winter, expression earnest and sincerity shining in his soft blue eyes. “You can say no if you—if you're not okay with it. Or just not comfortable. And I won't be offended at all.”

Winter frowned in confusion. Were they still talking about art? “What did you want to ask me?”

Steve grimaced. “You understand you can say no, whatever it is?”

“No,” Winter said, then laughed, rolling his eyes at the look of utter confusion on Steve's face. “Of course I understand I can say no.” Except he didn't, not really—he couldn't just say _no_ to his owner, to his CO, to _Steve_. Not when there was something Steve wanted from him. But Steve didn't need to know that, _couldn't_ know that; it was important to Steve that Winter _say_ he understood. Because it was hard enough for Steve to admit when he wanted something.

“Okay; sorry.” Steve ducked his head, smiling and blushing a bit. He glanced up at Winter.

Winter quirked an eyebrow at him, hoping he wouldn't have to prompt him further to get him to just spit it out already, whatever it was. It's not like it was likely to be anything at all shocking or overly exciting, though of course even if it _was_ , the answer would still be 'yes'. Winter's old Master had sometimes told him to cut his own body, would give him the knife and tell him where to cut and Winter would obey then because he _had_ to. Steve, of course, didn't want him to be hurt _ever_ by _anyone_ , which was a bit ridiculous, really. And this wasn't even going to be an order, and it was probably just going to be something simple like...

“I'd like to draw you.”

Winter managed to stop himself from rolling his eyes. _That_ was what all this was about? All this 'you can say no' insistence? He wanted to slam Steve up against the wall and kiss him until he could no longer stand, until he couldn't even _speak_ , for making such a huge deal out of wanting something so godsdamned clean and pure and _holy_. And somehow thinking he needed to apologize for wanting it. But yeah, apparently they were still talking about art, after all. “Of course you can draw me.” He really couldn't understand why Steve felt the need to ask—how would it actually affect him in any way if Steve drew a picture of him? He probably wouldn't even know about it if Steve never showed it to him. And it's not like any of those internet artists had asked before drawing pictures of him as a winged unicorn, a naked woman draped over a motorcycle, or as _Jesus_. Winter frowned slightly. “Haven't you drawn me before?”

Steve blushed again, ducking his head. “Well, yeah, but...” He frowned slightly, turning toward Winter with a question in his eyes. “I wasn't sure if you'd remember that.”

“I don't really,” Winter admitted, dropping his gaze to the muted blue of the bedspread. Though of course, the real truth would have been, 'I don't at all; I didn't even know you were an artist until today.' “Do you still have any of the drawings?” He met Steve's eyes again. “The ones you did of me.”

Steve grinned bashfully, nodding. “Yeah, I do. Howard—Tony's father Howard—kept a bunch of my old stuff in storage. I don't know what would have happened to it all, otherwise.”

Winter sat up, letting his interest and hope show in his face. “Can I see them?”

“Sure; yeah, of course.” Sliding off the bed, Steve dug through his drawers, pulling out a stack of sketchpads and flipping through the first one. After a moment, he paused, looking up. “It's not very good...” he said, handing the open sketchpad to Winter. “That's from when we were just kids.”

The picture was a little smudged and the paper a little warped from getting a bit wet at least once, but it showed a smirking boy of about thirteen in a worn t-shirt and tattered jeans, standing against a wall with his hands in his pockets. It didn't look like _Winter_ , but it was recognizable as a young Bucky from the photos he'd seen on the internet. And Winter wasn't exactly a qualified art critic, but he was pretty sure it was pretty darn _good_ for something drawn by a twelve-year-old.

As Steve showed him picture after picture—most of them simple pencil or charcoal sketches, but some done in colour—Winter started to get a real sense of just how important Bucky had been to Steve. He'd known, of course, or at least guessed, but the art showed it in a different way, showed different facets of why Bucky had been so important. There was a lot of focus on his smile, on his eyes. There was _life_ there in a way Winter didn't think he'd ever quite be able to capture in his own face. But he'd be damned if he didn't _try_. Because this was so much more useful than anything he'd found so far on the internet—this wasn't who the galaxy in general thought Bucky was, this was Bucky seen through Steve's eyes, the Bucky Steve remembered.

“Oh,” Steve said softly as he turned a page in one of the sketchbooks.

Winter looked up from the picture he'd been studying of a barely-in-his-twenties Bucky grinning playfully over the top of a beer bottle. “What?”

Steve was blushing at least as hard as Winter had ever seen. “I, uh...well...”

“What is it?” Winter slid closer. “Are you going to let me see it, whatever it is?”

Steve rubbed at the back of his neck. “You...well, you probably don't remember this, so... What I mean is, you knew I was supposed to practice, and you offered...” He finally turned the book, pushing it across the bedspread towards Winter. He kept looking away and down like there was something shameful on the page he maybe wanted to yank back.

When really, it was just Bucky, nude—nothing so shocking, especially considering what the internet had to offer anyone doing a quick search for 'James Buchanan Barnes'. Bucky in the picture was lying on his stomach with his chin resting on his hands which lay one atop the other on the bed—legs bent at the knee and ankles crossed lazily. And somehow Steve had managed to capture the amused sparkle in his eyes and the intentional pout of his lips all without realizing just how blatantly Bucky was flirting with him. And also had somehow managed to produce an impressively detailed piece of art with his best friend lying naked on his bed. Winter raised an eyebrow, wondering how Steve's face had not simply _melted off his skull_ from the heat of his blush—maybe the pose had helped somewhat, since most of the...interesting bits were hidden. Though, Steve still would have had to trace the curve of his ass, all somehow without his hand shaking and spoiling the picture. Reaching out, Winter touched Steve's elbow with the fingers of his flesh hand. “Steve, this is really good.” He let out a breath. “They're all very good.”

Steve finally turned towards him again, offering him a bit of a smile.

“But really.” Winter chuckled, motioning to the picture. “ _This_ happened, and you never once thought..?”

“It was _art_ , Bucky,” Steve said, a flash of helplessness in his eyes. “Artists are supposed to draw nudes to learn anatomy—it's—it's important. That's _all_ it was.”

Winter shook his head. “That's not all it was to me.” Winter was one-hundred percent sure that if he were to show this picture to Tony—or even Happy or Rhodey or probably anyone else on the whole godsdamned space station—they'd see it right away.

“You—you remember?” Hope struggled with confusion in Steve's eyes. “You remember when I drew this?”

Winter looked intently into Steve's eyes. It was important that Steve understand. “I don't remember _this_ , specifically—and I'm sorry I don't, but maybe I'll get it back eventually. I don't know.” He looked down, then looked back up, meeting Steve's gorgeous eyes once more. “But what I do remember, Steve, is how much I wanted you, how much I loved you. I could _taste_ it; I would nearly _choke_ on it. You were everything I wanted and everything I knew I could never have.”

“Bucky...” Steve's voice was rough and his eyes were damp as he reached out to take Winter's hand. “I never knew.” He ducked his head, shaking it. “I'm sorry.”

“Hey.” Tilting Steve's face back up with his metal fingers under his chin, Winter offered him a gentle, crooked smile. “Don't be sorry. I think I liked it, otherwise...” He shrugged. “I wouldn't have hung around you.”

Steve offered him a hesitant smile. Then his expression changed as though he'd suddenly remembered something. “Oh, there's one more picture I should show you.” Jumping up, he went back to digging through his things, a bit of a frown furrowing his brow. Pausing, he bit his lip. “I must have left it in the other room.” Turning to grin nervously at Winter, he said, “I'll be right back.”

o0o

When Steve returned from the living room with the sketchbook, he looked about equal parts excited and hesitant with a little sadness shimmering just below the surface. His fingers moved nervously on the edges of the sketchbook and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I—” He cleared his throat. “I did this one from memory a couple of years ago.” His hands shook slightly as he handed the book over.

This picture was in colour, though mostly blues and greys—some dusky green for the evergreen trees in the background. Bucky was standing on a snowy mountainside wearing a dark blue jacket, holding a sniper-rifle in his hands. His skin was pale, contrasting with his dark hair and brilliant blue eyes—and the vibrant red of lips that it looked like maybe he'd been biting. There was a determination in the set of his jaw that hadn't been in most of the pictures, and a quiet sadness in his eyes that hadn't been in any of them. He looked the most like Winter that any of the pictures had. And somehow it was perhaps the most beautiful picture Winter had ever seen. “It's beautiful,” he said once he found his voice. He looked up, meeting Steve's eyes. “It really is.” He wasn't sure if he should say this part—maybe it was too honest, but he couldn't quite stop himself: “It looks like me.”

“It is you, Buck.” Lowering himself to the bed, Steve put his arm around Winter's shoulders.

Winter blinked, realizing quite suddenly he was crying as tears matted his eyelashes and splashed carelessly against his cheeks. “Sorry,” he mumbled, rubbing at his face with his flesh hand.

“It's okay,” Steve assured him, rocking him slightly back and forth. “It's fine.” He laughed a little, quiet and tinged with apology. “I think I'm supposed to take it as a compliment.”

“You really are going to have to draw me.” Winter laughed a little as well, broken, through his tears. “Again, I mean.” Rubbing the worst of the tears from his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, Winter met Steve's eyes. “You're amazing. Your art is amazing.” He ducked his head, grinning at Steve from under his bangs. “I guess it's a little vain, but I want to see more of me like this.”

Steve was glowing—godsdamned angel with his godsdamned halo. “Sure, Buck; of course. Be as vain as you want.” He brushed his thumb against Winter's chin affectionately. “You always were a little vain.”

Winter grinned until he was sure he was beaming. He hadn't been consciously thinking about that particular detail—though really he should have been, given what he already knew of Bucky—but he'd gotten it right anyway.

o0o

“Gods,” Happy said, leaning back in his office chair and shoving both of his hands through his short dark hair. “Lehnsherr.” He shot Tony a questioning look. “As in Erik Lehnsherr, as in Magneto, as in the terrorist who's always got a new plan every few years to kill off all us baselines— _that_ 'Lehnsherr'?”

“Yep.” Tony didn't like it anymore than Happy did. Though really, if Lehnsherr was currently working _with_ Xavier rather than _against_ him, maybe it wouldn't be so bad? If Lehnsherr was a demon—and he kinda _was_ —Xavier was pretty much an angel. An angel who for whatever reason didn't use a Stark Phone. It figured, though, didn't it, that Creed would know how to contact _Lehnsherr_.

Happy frowned, tapping his fingers against the side of his computer screen. “You sure this is the best idea?”

Tony leaned his hip against the edge of Happy's desk, folded his arms, and blew out air through his lips. “Nope.”

Happy tilted his head a bit to look up at him. “You gonna talk to Pepper about it?”

“Yep.” Of course he was gonna talk to Pepper about it. Tony resisted rolling his eyes. They'd all _talk_ about it, and in the end they'd have to actually do something.

Happy frowned down at the surface of his desk. “But...suppose you do get in contact with Lehnsherr.” He glanced up at Tony. “Why would he want to help us?”

Tony shook his head. “He wouldn't. But we've got Creed in custody.” Tony pointed in the general direction of Creed's new cell. “He'll want to help _Creed_.”

Happy blew out a breath, shaking his head. “I don't have to tell you...”

Tony put his hand on Happy's shoulder, giving it a friendly squeeze. “No, you really don't.”

o0o

Steve checked the time on his Stark Phone—it was nearly five. “I guess we don't really have time before supper for me to draw you, Buck.” Steve was riding a bit of a high from Bucky appreciating his art so much. Even if the feeling was tempered with a bit of guilt over making Bucky cry. “Maybe after supper?”

Bucky nodded. “That sounds good.” He sat up straighter, pushing his hair out of his face with his metal hand. “Hey, did you want me to make supper, or at least help cook?”

“Sure.” Steve smiled warmly at him. “Pepper made sure the kitchen was stocked for when we got in, so we've got lots of options—let's go pick out something we both like.”

Smiling back, Bucky nodded again as he pushed himself off the bed to stand.

Steve paused at the door of the bedroom. “Did you want me to walk you through cooking?”

Ducking his head, Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets and shuffled his feet. “If you want.”

Sighing, Steve turning to face Bucky more fully. “Aw, come on, Buck.” He reached out and put his hand on the bicep of Bucky's flesh arm, rubbing his thumb gently against the soft fabric of the sweatshirt. “I don't wanna do anything you don't wanna do.”

“I know.” Bucky peeked at him from under his bangs, shoulders hunched. “Sorry.”

Letting out a breath, Steve straightened his own shoulders. “It's been a bit of a roller-coaster day for us. And I think...” He took a breath; he hoped he was getting this right. “You might be more comfortable right now if I was giving you some instructions.” It's possible he should have been doing it already, actually—it might have helped Bucky with the transition from the Stark 1 to Avenger Tower. Might have given him something to focus on. He'd helped Bucky before with simple instructions like, 'Look at me,' and reminding him to breathe. At least he'd remembered to touch Bucky's hair the way he liked. God, he was terrible at this...whatever he was doing. Being Bucky's CO. Thing.

Bucky still looked a little unsure.

Steve took Bucky's hand and tugged gently. “Come; we're going to make supper, and I'm going to walk you through your part.” He offered Bucky an encouraging smile. “Okay?”

Bucky's smile was relieved as he let himself be led.

o0o

The chime for the door sounded, and Steve hopped up to go answer it. He and Bucky had been relaxing after just having finished clearing away the supper dishes—it actually had been really nice to cook together. Even giving Bucky instructions had seemed natural enough. With supper out of the way, Steve had been thinking of maybe getting out his sketchpad and drawing Bucky like he'd promised.

The door slid open to reveal Sharon Carter. She pushed a lock of her blonde hair behind her ear and shifted her weight a little from one foot to the other.

“Sharon,” Steve said. “It's good to see you.” It was a relief to know she was still all right, after everything. _Still_ all right—that she'd found someplace safe in a galaxy that predominantly wasn't. And if someone like Tony or Pepper had, well, 'warned' wasn't exactly a good word, but... It might have been nice to know she was at the Tower before she showed up at his door. But. It was still a nice surprise. “I...didn't know you were here.”

She smiled a little awkwardly. “I guess...I didn't let you know—could have sent a message, but—I didn't.” She offered him an apologetic smile. “Shannon and I relocated here recently. I've got a job—joined the medical staff here.”

Steve nodded. That made sense. She was a qualified nurse, among other things.

“Steve,” Sharon said, visibly trying to get to some point or other. “I need to—can you step out into the hallway for a minute?”

Steve spared a glance for Bucky who was lounging on the couch, poking at his Stark Phone. Bucky gave Steve a nod—he'd be okay for a few minutes. Didn't _really_ need Steve to babysit him. At least not twenty-four seven. And this was the only door to Steve's quarters, so Bucky'd be relatively safe, barring attacks from Gifted teleporters and the like. “Sure,” Steve said, following her out and letting the door close behind him.

Sharon took a breath, raising her chin as she faced him. Her eyes glistened and her voice roughened when she spoke. “Peggy Carter, my Aunt Peggy, passed away two weeks ago. I thought—I thought it would be better to tell you in person.” She took a shaky breath. “She didn't suffer; she wasn't in pain.”

Steve felt as though Avenger Tower was spinning improbably around him, the air strangely thick. His enhanced vision seemed to be darkening and narrowing in a way it used to sometimes long ago when an asthma attack got really bad, but he was still breathing—rough and laboured, but the tightness in his chest was a prickling burn rather than an unyielding strangling. It wasn't like he hadn't known this was coming; Peggy had been sick, had been _old_ ever since Steve woke up. She'd lived a long, full life. After a moment that stretched too long, he managed to say, “Th-thank you—for telling me.”

Sharon gave him a teary-eyed smile. “We—we didn't really have time for a funeral, with...with everything. But Shannon and I were thinking of having a bit of something here, with you, if you'd like to join us. We're not sure who else will be able to come...” There were others, of course; Peggy's family wasn't exactly huge, but it wasn't tiny either. Hopefully they were safe, though, and not too hopelessly scattered. It was good Sharon and Shannon were here at least. Safe. “But, Bucky too, of course, if that's—well, he knew her as well, so he's invited. Stark...” She took a breath. “Tony didn't know her, but his father did, so...”

Steve nodded. “Just...message me with the time and place.” It's not like he had a full schedule since his most recent employer turned out to be mostly a front for HYDRA and tried to kill him. He just had Bucky. And he could bring Bucky with him.

She laid a gentle hand on his arm. “Of course; I'll message you to work out all the details.”

As she began to turn away, Steve finally managed to say what he should have said first. “I'm sorry for your loss, Sharon—you and Shannon and the rest of your family.” He swallowed. “Peggy was a remarkable woman.”

“She was.” Sharon gave him another smile and a companionable pat on the arm. “Take care of yourself, Rogers.” As she turned to leave, Steve turned and walked mechanically back into his quarters.

Once the door was closed behind him, he just sank down on the floor with his back to the wall. Maybe there _was_ something wrong with the gravity, after all.

“Steve?” That was Bucky, of course. And Steve had to take care of Bucky, but...

Steve shook his head. “I'm sorry.” His voice was choked, the words clogging in his throat. “I can't, Bucky. Not right now.”

“Do you need me to call someone?” Bucky's tone was calm and careful, but the concern threaded through the words was impossible to miss. “Tony? Or Bruce?”

Steve shook his head, leaning forward to press his forehead against his drawn up knees. He didn't _need_ anyone. He just needed to _breathe_.

“Hey.” Bucky's voice was closer now. “Steve; I'm here.” He felt Bucky's hand, warm and comforting on his arm. His voice sounded so much...so much like... _Bucky_. “Sit on the couch at least?” The fond smile was audible in his voice, kind and reassuringly familiar. “The floor's not exactly comfortable, ya punk.”

And then Steve was reaching for him, grasping desperately and sobbing, pressing his face into Bucky's broad chest, because this was _Bucky_. He _knew_ this. Bucky always took care of him, always made things better. He didn't move from the floor, just pulled Bucky in so they were there together in a messy heap. “Peggy's dead,” he managed to gasp between sobs. “She died.”

“Oh, Stevie.” Bucky's voice was low and gentle, soothing, as he stroked one hand through Steve's hair and held him close with the other. “I'm sorry, pal.” And Bucky kept saying things like, 'I'm here,' and, 'I've got you,' as Steve's sobs finally faded and his tears slowed.

Pulling back once his breathing was mostly normal again, Steve glanced at Bucky's face and ducked his head sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Bucky's arm around him tightened and he tilted Steve's face back up so he could wipe the tears from his cheeks with his thumb. “Sorry for what?” Bucky looked genuinely confused and so, so gentle.

“I, uh...” Steve tugged at the wrinkled and damp fabric of Bucky's shirt. “I kinda cried all over you.”

Bucky shrugged. “I'll wash.”

Steve's brow furrowed as his rational mind finally caught up to where and when he was and everything that had happened. “Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

It seemed too impossible to hope... How could he ask his friend, 'Is this really you?' How could he explain that for a moment he'd not only forgotten who Bucky was now but that Bucky had seemed to _be_ who he used to be? Steve finally just said, “Thanks.”

And it wasn't fair, of course; Bucky was still Bucky, had always been Bucky. And he'd almost died and Steve had believed him dead, but he'd got him _back_ , and things were better again, and he couldn't ask for more than that. It was just... Bucky'd been _hurt_ —the metal arm was important too, that he'd been physically and permanently hurt that badly. But he'd been getting better; of course he had. He was smart and brave and so much stronger than the people who'd tried to break him. But much of his memory was still missing... And yet he'd sounded just like _Bucky_. Like the old Bucky. Like seventy years of agony had just been wiped away.

Bucky just smiled, warm and familiar like a thousand tiny bursts of agonized hope exploding in Steve's chest. His grip on Steve's shoulder was sure and deliberate. “Hey, someone's gotta take care of you.”

o0o

Winter led Steve to the bedroom and made him sit on the bed, then grabbed a warm, wet washcloth from the bathroom to clean his face. Steve was staring at him like he was a little dazed—which was understandable—but also like Winter himself was an angel. Or _Jesus_ —though not the one bleeding to death on the cross, the one who walked back out of the tomb robed all in white. And that was fine. Winter could be that for him if that's what Steve needed.

He grabbed clean t-shirts for both of them and helped Steve out of the one he was wearing when he made no move to do it himself. Gods, Steve was gorgeous, but that wasn't—

“Bucky.” Steve caught Winter's flesh hand, his motions a little sluggish. “Thanks.” He'd already said that, but maybe he didn't remember. Or maybe he was thanking Winter for what he'd done since the last time he'd said it.

Winter debated for a moment, but finally settled on running his metal fingers through Steve's short hair—it was a bit of a risk to remind him of the physical change, but refusing to use the metal hand would be reminder enough. And Steve was still holding the flesh one.

Steve closed his eyes and relaxed at the touch, though. So that was good.

Winter dipped his head to kiss Steve's forehead. “You need to rest.”

Steve nodded sleepily. “Yeah.” He finally pulled the clean shirt on with minimal help. Turning towards him, Steve looked very young as he said, “You'll stay?”

“Of course.” Winter sat down next to him, wrapping his arms around him. He pressed his forehead to Steve's temple. He pitched his voice low and reassuring. “I'll stay right here.”

“Thanks.” Steve offered him a grateful half-smile as he let himself be guided under the covers, head on the pillow.

Winter crawled in behind him and wrapped his flesh arm across Steve's chest to hold him close. “You're gonna be okay, Stevie.” He smiled, warm and a little crooked—Steve wouldn't see it, but he'd hear it in the words. “Get some rest now—I'm not going anywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can hardly believe I killed Peggy Carter. I know she's old and it's inevitable, but still. :( I freaking _love_ her, for the record.


	14. I'm With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are bruises...but Steve is tough, and he heals fast.

Tony rubbed his forehead, pressing his fingertips in as though they could rub out the headache that was building there. “It's not even just the whole Lehnsherr thing—it's the logistics of this.” He looked up, meeting Pepper's eyes. “Someone has to actually go—physically, in person—to this miserable little backwater port, find some dive bar in the middle of gods know what, and talk to this girl. And then _she_ gets to decide if she's even going to contact Lehnsherr, who of course in turn gets to decide if we're worthy of talking to Xavier.”

Pepper sat forward, resting her chin in her hand. “Once Lehnsherr knows we have Creed, he might just decide to come and get him—he could pull the whole station apart, and there's nothing we could do to stop him.”

Tony grimaced. He hadn't quite considered _that_ very real possibility. Lehnsherr was one of those thoroughly unfairly overpowered Gifted. Xavier was too, technically, but...he didn't tend to throw his power around for fun and wasn't the type to just indiscriminately kill everyone who got in his way. “So what do we do? _Not_ tell him about Creed? Find some _other_ reason we need to contact Xavier?”

“Well,” Pepper said, looking thoughtful as she leaned back in her chair, “it's not like we don't have any other reasons to want to talk to Xavier. He's been an ally in the past, and everyone can use allies right now. Also—” She sat up straighter, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “You did want a telepath, one we could trust.” She pursed her lips, gaze dropping to the smooth, white surface of her desk. “Unfortunately, I don't think, 'We need a telepath, because we're baselines and can't read minds ourselves,' is the sort of argument that's going to sway Lehnsherr.” One corner of her mouth turned up ruefully.

“Yeah.” Tony slumped lower in his chair. “At least I had something to offer the Wakandans—oh, speaking of—” He sat up, suddenly curious. It'd been at least three weeks since Wilson left. “Has Wilson reported in yet?”

She shook her head.

He tapped his fingers against the padded arm of the chair. “If I had a supply of vibranium, I bet that's something Magneto would want—though, I suppose T'Challa might not be too happy if he found out I was handing it out to terrorists like Halloween candy.” He covered his face with both hands. “Pepper, why does it always have to be so hard?” He could hear the whine in his own voice, but he didn't particularly care. The Gifted probably didn't have much interest in clean energy, because many of them could just produce energy from their own bodies. That was the trouble trying to offer _anything_ to the Gifted—they always had someone who could already do that, thanks.

Pepper rubbed at her temples. “I suppose it just is? 'Heavy is the head that wears the crown', or however that old saying went.”

Tony grimaced. Crown? He didn't bother trying to suppress his shudder. Um, no thanks. Sure, crowns generally _looked_ pretty cool, but all the implied responsibility...

“But...” Pepper looked at him, expression serious. “It's possible that Lehnsherr will eventually learn that we have Creed even if we _don't_ tell him.” She grimaced slightly. “Maybe it would be better if we approached him first, on our own terms.”

Tony nodded. Pepper was right. It wasn't like they were broadcasting the information about the arrests to the known galaxy, but it wasn't exactly a closely-guarded secret either. And of course they couldn't simply let Creed go—even _Creed_ had admitted that would be a pretty dumb idea. What they _really_ needed was Xavier, but it seemed Lehnsherr was their best chance of finding him. “Okay.” Tony sighed, tapping his folded hands against his lips. “Say we did try to contact Lehnsherr—who goes to talk to the girl? Uh, 'Angel' was the name Creed gave.” He paused. “It seems like a perfect fit for Barton and Romanoff.”

Pepper nodded. “I agree.”

“They have checked in, right?” Romanoff no longer worked for Stark Industries, and Barton never had, but they'd been using the Tower as their base of operations off and on since even before SHIELD fell apart—since SHIELD turned out to be mostly HYDRA, secretly. Anyway, they were both still Avengers. And it was good to have allies. So it was pretty permanent now, and Tony wasn't about to reassign their quarters or anything. Like, ever.

“Yes.” Pepper nodded again. “Natasha said they should be arriving back here soon—could be as early as sometime tomorrow.”

Tony nodded. “Romanoff's good at the whole talking to people...thing.” _Manipulating_ people, but yeah. In a _good_ way. Because she was one of the good guys. Maybe she'd be able to come up with some spin that'd convince Lehnsherr to cooperate and think it was his own idea. Tony smirked at the thought.

o0o

When Steve woke, he had no idea what time it was, but it was dark—Bucky must have asked JARVIS to kill the lights, unless JARVIS was just autonomously turning lights off for sleeping people now—and it felt like he must have slept at least four hours, if not a full eight. It was quiet save for the sound of whimpering. Bucky. He'd rolled away from Steve at some point, and was having a nightmare. Which was understandable, especially given the change from the ship to the station and the emotional avalanche that had followed. Steve reached out, placing his hand between the metal of Bucky's shoulder and his neck—Bucky wouldn't really feel it if he touched the metal—shaking him a little. “Bucky.”

Bucky's body went rigid and his eyes snapped open, but he stared at Steve blankly as his metal arm moved with deadly precision to snatch Steve's wrist and yank it away. “Don't fucking touch me,” he snarled, flipping Steve very suddenly onto his back and holding him down, hands gripping Steve's wrists on either side of his head—hard enough to bruise. Bucky growled menacingly, face close enough that Steve could feel the brush of breath on his skin.

“Bucky?” Steve tried again.

Bucky's hands tightened even further on Steve's wrists, and...if he squeezed much harder, he might crack Steve's bones—or dislocate them, or... But then Bucky said, “Who the hell is 'Bucky'?”

And Steve's stomach twisted, terrible and cold. A rather unhelpful part of his brain was reminding him that this was the point where he should be leaving the room—he shouldn't let Bucky hurt him; it wasn't good for either him _or_ Bucky. But, well, he kind of _couldn't move at all_. He didn't have a lot of options... “Please, Bucky.” The words were broken, desperate.

They only earned him a rough shake—sort of a sudden shove of his whole body down into the bed—and an even tighter grip on his wrists.

Steve took the calmest breath he could muster, pushing all his fear and pain, and everything else that was just an unhelpful distraction, away. He made himself Captain Rogers, cloaking himself with the confidence that came so easily on the battlefield, and said, clear and firm as any command he'd ever given, “Sergeant Barnes. Let me go. Now!”

Bucky's grip immediately went slack. He blinked down at Steve in confusion, then quickly scrambled back and away, eyes wide and wild, and breath coming quickly through his nose as he pressed his mouth closed, clenching his jaw. His hands were fists resting on his thighs...and he was kneeling.

Well, of _course_ he was. Steve tried to keep his sigh small and quiet as he pulled himself into a sitting position, rubbing at his wrists as the circulation came back. He looked at Bucky, carefully not feeling any of the buzzing hornet's nest of emotions that clamoured for his attention. “Do you know who I am?”

Bucky lowered his eyes, back straight as though he were standing at attention rather than kneeling on a bed. “You are my—CO, sir.”

“That's correct, soldier.” Steve flexed his fingers to be sure he could still move them all. “And do you know my name?”

Bucky's shoulders hunched a bit and his head tilted forward. “Steve, sir.”

Steve nodded, though Bucky wasn't looking at him. “And do you know your name, Sergeant?”

Bucky took a small, broken, _scared_ breath. His hands tightened reflexively against his thighs. Finally he said, “You call me 'Bucky,' sir.” And that was a strange way to put it, but...it was the truth, of course.

“And do you know where you are, Bucky?” Steve let his voice gentle a little while still keeping its calm authority.

Bucky took three rough breaths, then finally shook his head. “No, sir. But I am with you, sir—Steve.”

“We are in my quarters on Avenger Tower, a space station,” Steve told him calmly. “You had a nightmare.”

Bucky nodded shakily, eyes still downcast. “I am sorry, sir.”

Steve shook his head, though Bucky was still not looking at him. And, okay, maybe he should do something about that. “Bucky, look at me.”

Bucky's eyes snapped to Steve's face.

Steve nodded. “Thank you.” He pulled his legs into a cross-legged position and leaned forward slightly. “You don't have to apologize for having a nightmare, Bucky.”

Bucky grimaced, damp eyes not quite meeting Steve's. His voice was rough when he said, “But I hurt you.”

Steve nodded; there was no point trying to deny that—Bucky had come very close to injuring him. Again. “But you didn't mean to.”

“I didn't! I didn't mean to—I'm sorry—I—” Bucky was _begging_ , tears painting glistening stripes down his face as he made no move to hide them or brush them away. Did he expect a punishment? Well, right, of course he did.

Steve sighed again, quiet and restrained. “Bucky, come here...please.”

Swallowing, Bucky moved to comply, his motions shaky in a sort of _restrained_ way. Like he was trying so hard _not_ to shake. Trying so hard just to obey, to follow orders.

“Lay your head in my lap.” Steve guided Bucky until he was lying with his head cradled by Steve's crossed legs, then began stroking his fingers through Bucky's hair, starting at the temples and combing his fingers back to the nape of his neck, fingertips sliding against his scalp.

Bucky's eyes fluttered closed and he let out a whimper, broken and vulnerable. His breath hitched in his chest.

“You're all right, Bucky,” Steve told him soothingly. “You're safe.”

“I—” Bucky shuddered a bit. “I'm with you...Steve.” He grimaced. “I should have remembered.”

And...Steve wanted to tell him that it was all right, but...as much as Bucky didn't mean to hurt him, as much as that wasn't even Bucky—he hadn't even known his own _name_ —he'd hurt Steve, very nearly hurt him _bad_. He couldn't lie and say that was all right, and he'd already pointed out that Bucky hadn't meant to do it. There had to be some positive, something he could say to reassure Bucky... “You listened to me, though, Buck; when I told you to let go of me, you did. You were having a nightmare, and you didn't even know where you were, but you still did what I asked.” Steve was reeling a bit from the fact that it _worked_. Bucky had been so stuck in his nightmare that he didn't know who Steve was, didn't even know who _Bucky_ was, and yet it still _worked_. If it hadn't, well, JARVIS would have called security and Steve would have been spending the night in the infirmary getting medical treatment and probably another lecture from Bruce—hell, they'd probably try to insist he spend the night in the quarters across the hall or some nonsense. As if it would help either of them to be alone.

“Sometimes I need you to tell me what to do.” Bucky's voice was small and vulnerable.

And okay, yeah, sometimes he really _did_. Steve laughed softly. “I guess sometimes I need to remember to tell you what to do.” It had been his _very last_ option. He really sucked at this. But maybe—maybe he could get better? It wasn't exactly terrible, giving Bucky instructions, walking him through things. And it helped Bucky, helped calm him, helped him feel safe.

Bucky whined deep in his throat, sounding a little distressed.

“Buck?

“Could you please...not...stop?” he asked.

Steve realized his hands had stilled in Bucky's hair. He started moving them again. “Oh, sorry.” Steve was reminded—a little unfairly—of petting a cat. He tried not to smile. It really wasn't fair at all.

Bucky relaxed under Steve's touch, his whole body going pliant.

“I'm so glad I have you, Bucky,” Steve said, because he was. Terrifyingly violent nightmares were nothing beside what Bucky meant to him. “You're the best thing I've ever had in my whole life.” And that was true too.

Bucky fell asleep like that, and Steve couldn't bring himself to move and risk waking him up. So he just leaned his head back against the wall—ignoring the mildly uncomfortable way the edge of the headboard pressed into his back—as his hands continued to stroke meditatively through Bucky's hair, and he prayed, thanking God once again for Bucky and asking God to help him be a better person, a better friend. He thanked God for Peggy and the full life she'd lived, and for her family, asking God to watch over them all. He spent quite a bit of time thanking God in detail for all the many things with which he'd been blessed—his friends and his home at the Tower. Eventually, it circled back to Bucky once again. He blinked at the tears that threatened. He was just so thankful to have Bucky.

o0o

When Winter awoke next, his head was still in Steve's lap. He blinked, grimacing as he tried to shift slightly—his neck was a stubborn twist of tension on one side. The side with his metal arm. That was actually pretty common, but no less annoying. And of course it was worse than usual. Worse than his new usual, though perhaps not as bad as when he slept in a cage.

“Buck?” Steve was awake. He hadn't just _stayed_ awake, sitting up for hours, had he?

Winter groaned. “Sorry, just—my neck.” He rubbed ineffectively at it with his flesh hand.

“Oh,” Steve said. “I should've—should've had you sleep on the pillow.”

Rolling over and pushing himself up into a sitting position, Winter shook his head. “Not your fault.” He frowned, wincing. “It's the arm.” He moved the metal arm as if to loosen it up, but that never worked. He narrowed his eyes at Steve. “And did you seriously just sit there and not sleep?” That really couldn't have been comfortable, leaning against the wall with the headboard stabbing him in the back.

Steve shrugged. “I didn't feel tired.”

Stupid punk. Winter shook his head—or tried to, because _ow_.

“Here,” Steve said, gesturing to Winter's neck. “Let me help.”

So Winter sat cross-legged in front of Steve with his head bent and let him massage his neck. His hands were strong and warm and sure, and Winter couldn't help hissing, groaning, and crying out a little.

“Okay?” Steve asked, voice a little unsure.

“Yeah.” It was so much more than okay. “That's perfect.” He hissed again, but the hiss became a moan. “Oh, _gods_.”

“Still good?” Steve checked.

Winter shuddered. “You could—a little harder?”

So Steve did, and then Winter was basically incoherent with the sweet, overpowering pain and pleasure sensation of it all. Eventually, Steve's massive strength and unfailing determination managed to work the entire knot of tension out, and Winter's neck felt better than it had in... Well, it felt better than he ever remembered it feeling.

Turning to face Steve, Winter blinked a little, stretching his neck from side to side and rolling his shoulders. “Wow; that's—thank you.”

Steve grinned a little bashfully, ducking his head but still meeting Winter's gaze. “Glad I could help.”

“Can I return the favour?” Winter gestured to Steve. “Sitting against the headboard like that must have done a number on your back.”

Steve shrugged, stretching his back a bit, face unconcerned. “It's not so bad.”

Winter smirked at Steve from under his bangs. “Steve, I'm trying to have an excuse here to touch you and make you moan—like you just did for me.”

Steve blushed so hard his ears and neck turned red, but he didn't protest. Even stripped off his shirt and laid face down so Winter could straddle his hips. He flinched slightly with a sharp intake of breath when Winter's metal hand touched his back, though.

Winter pulled the hand back. “Sorry. I can just use the other one.”

“No, no.” Steve shook his head where he was resting his chin on his folded arms. “It was just a bit cold—it's fine.” He peeked back over his shoulder at Winter, cheeks still gorgeously pink. “I used both of my hands on you.”

And that really wasn't a fair comparison, but Winter laid the metal hand against Steve's skin again, and Steve just smiled, turning his head back and relaxing under Winter's touch. Steve really didn't have that many knots that Winter could feel, and no terribly bad ones—maybe it was something to do with the serum? But he groaned prettily enough as Winter kneaded his muscles. When Winter had worked over his whole back—neck, shoulders, upper, and lower back—he asked, “How's that feel?”

“Good.” Steve turned his head to smile at him over his shoulder again. He looked happy, relaxed. “Better. I mean, it wasn't bad before, but that felt good.”

Winter could think of a few other things that would feel good... But, there would be better timing for things like that. Like, a day when Steve hadn't just learned of the death of the only person with whom he'd ever had any sort of romantic relationship. Unless Winter himself counted, since their relationship was kind of romantic...ish. But anyway, better timing and all that. If Steve were to ask, of course he'd go along with it, and happily—eagerly. But it wasn't a time to be pushing something like that on Steve. He leaned forward and kissed Steve between the shoulder blades then rolled off, lying on his side facing Steve. “I really am sorry about what happened—with the nightmare.” It didn't feel like he could ever apologize enough. Especially not when Steve's idea of a reasonable consequence was to stroke Winter's hair for hours. Gods, it had been wonderful. But it was so painfully far from what he _deserved_.

Rolling onto his side as well, Steve looked at him, face solemn. “It wasn't your fault.” He reached out and took Winter's metal hand, giving it a squeeze.

And that felt...strange. Winter wasn't exactly used to Steve—or anyone—touching his metal hand. Tony would touch the arm sometimes, but Tony was interested in the technology. And Steve hadn't exactly shied away from it, but he'd always taken Winter's flesh hand before. Which was fine, of course; the flesh hand had far more sensation—all the metal one had was a dull sense of pressure. Winter looked back up from their joined hands to Steve's face. “Your wrists—are they—?” They _looked_ okay, anyway.

“They're fine.” Steve smiled, warm and a little rueful. “I'm tough, and I heal fast.”

“If I ever do anything like that again,” Winter said, “I want you to tell me to stop right away.” He looked down. “Please. Don't let me hurt you.”

“Yeah.” Steve brushed a lock of hair behind Winter's ear, and Winter leaned into the touch. Steve swallowed, expression serious. “I promise.”

Winter grinned, relief a warm burst of light in his chest, and turned to kiss Steve's palm. It might help, of course, if Steve were to give him his name properly, but he wasn't sure how to suggest that. Or if that was something Steve ever _could_ do. And maybe...maybe Steve's strange, slow retraining methods would eventually work for that too.

o0o

As Steve stood under the spray of hot water, letting it wash over his skin, his mind wandered to Bucky. And how Bucky had been dropping some not exactly subtle hints about...sex. The way he'd reacted to seeing the nude drawing of himself and then what he'd said about the massage—wanting to touch Steve and make him moan. Steve couldn't help blushing just at the thought of it. But of course Bucky hadn't pushed for more than a simple back massage, and that was a relief. And also slightly confusing. But mostly a relief.

And of course there was what Bucky'd said about how he'd always wanted Steve, so badly he almost choked with it. That actually sounded kind of painful, and really not pleasant, but Bucky had said he _liked_ it and acted like maybe it wasn't as terrible as it sounded. Like maybe it was normal. And maybe for him it was. No matter where they were, Bucky had never had any trouble finding a pretty girl to dance with, to hold his arm and smile up at him like he was the best thing ever. But as far as Steve knew, he'd never had a _serious_ relationship. And maybe _Steve_ was the reason why. It made a harsh fist of guilt clench in his gut to think it, but...it was very likely true. Steve let his forehead rest against the smooth metal of the shower wall. He'd made his best friend suffer the whole time they'd known each other—likely less a few years before puberty hit full force—and he hadn't even known he was doing it.

Kissing Bucky was one thing—kissing Bucky was fine, nice even. But sex, though? It's not like Steve had ever had sex—how was he supposed to know what it'd be like or if he'd be, well, _good_ at it?

If things had gone differently with Peggy, if they'd had more time, they would have gotten married. They'd sort of talked about it in a vague roundabout way one evening when the subject of 'after the war' came up. Peggy had wanted children. And of course, she'd got children; she'd just had them with someone else. And he was happy for her, of course. For the life she'd had, for how she'd been able to find happiness.

Steve rubbed the tears off his face with one wet hand, then turned his face into the spray so the water could wash it all away. Shaking his head, he rubbed at his face again, this time just wiping water from his eyes.

Maybe it was better this way. Bucky had all the same parts he did—aside from the metal arm, but that wasn't exactly the point—so it wasn't as much of a mystery. Steve knew how to make his own body feel good, and that was a start, wasn't it?

After all the pain Bucky had been through, he deserved something good. Deserved to get what he wanted.

But there were so many things changing all at once. Just the previous evening Steve had fallen asleep with his best friend holding him together only to wake up to a stranger wearing his face trying to rip him apart. They had a plan for if that happened again, but still... Steve just needed a little time to breathe, to get sort of used to what his life was. It'd be nice if he could get a bit of a break, a chance to figure one thing out at a time.

Steve pressed his forehead against the shower wall again. It was okay, really. Bucky wasn't even technically officially his boyfriend yet, was he? That conversation had sort of ended a little vaguely, actually—he probably should bring the subject up again sometime. Soon.

And maybe Bucky was just teasing with those suggestions, just sort of yanking Steve's chain to see how he'd react. Probably loved seeing him blush, the jerk. Steve couldn't help grinning at the thought.

o0o

It was too early for Tony to be up. Especially since he'd spent half the night talking to Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy about the whole Creed-Lehnsherr-Xavier situation. Not that they'd come up with any solutions, mostly just commiserated about how much the situation sucked, and how much HYDRA sucked. And they'd had drinks, except for Pepper, but then she never really drank anything, always wanting to be the sane and sober one. Always so godsdamned responsible. Probably one of the reasons she made such a great CEO. Tony had finally managed to tempt her with a virgin daiquiri which she'd only accepted if Rhodey made it, and Tony was going to start feeling a bit inferior if people didn't stop preferring Rhodey's bartending skills to his. At least Happy—and hell, even Rhodey himself—would still drink things Tony made.

But anyway, Wilson had called at eff-o'clock—it's not like Tony paid any attention to the actual numbers, since anything before noon was 'early' and anything before ten was 'too damn early,' and it had been _far_ earlier than even that—saying T'Challa wanted a holo call with Tony in about forty-five minutes, because apparently Wilson knew Tony well enough to realize he'd need a warning before trying to talk to some important maybe sorta scary political leader type face to holo face. Or maybe Steve or Pepper had filled him in, or maybe he just guessed from Tony's reputation, or something. In any case, Tony really did appreciate the warning, even if he really hated being awake.

Tony had of course wondered—Wilson would likely say 'whined'—about why T'Challa couldn't just talk to Pepper, but of course T'Challa was talking to Pepper as well but still wanted to talk to Tony. Oh, the woes of being rich, famous, and important.

Still, T'Challa rated waaaaaaay higher than Lehnsherr on Tony's personal list of 'people he'd prefer to talk to when it was too early to be awake.' Thank the gods for whatever crumbs of mercy they deigned to toss his way that the Wakandan leader was only a _little_ xenophobic.

So Tony was showering away the worst of his headache, but of course he didn't have time to take as long of a shower as he'd like, or he'd miss the whole holo call, and then where would he be? Weeks of political sweet-talking no doubt down the drain like so much sweat and dead skin. Tony made a face at the water as it swirled near his feet. It was about time he got out, got dried off, and maybe even dressed. Yes. Dressed—clothing was probably a good idea. And not just his bathrobe or whatever. Like, probably a shirt and tie. Try to look all professional or some crap.

Reminding himself just how cool this Wakandan metal really was, Tony made himself turn off the water.

o0o

“Steve?”

Steve paused in the doorway of the bathroom, the shirt he'd been about to put on in his hands. He turned to look at Bucky where he sat on the bed. “Yeah?”

Bucky stood and walked closer, eyes slightly narrowed and focused on Steve's elbow of all things. Finally he said, “You don't have scars.”

“Well, no, I heal fast—” Steve began.

But Bucky cut him off. “You don't have _any_ scars.” He made a frustrated sound, blowing out air through his lips. “I think—you used to.” His narrowed eyes met Steve's, and there was a question written in his expression. “You must have, all the fights you got into.”

Steve nodded, looking down at the shirt in his hands, rubbing the soft white material between his fingertips. “Yeah, I had a few, I guess.” He looked up, meeting Bucky's gaze once again. “They all went away when—with the serum.” His shoulders twitched in a slight shrug. “And I haven't gotten any new ones since.”

Bucky nodded thoughtfully, gaze falling to Steve's right elbow once again. “You had one here.” He touched the unblemished skin with the fingers of his flesh hand. He'd phrased it as a statement, but Steve still heard the uncertainty that made it waver on the line between statement and question.

“Yeah.” Steve let out a breath. “I did.”

Bucky's brow furrowed with a thoughtful frown. “It was sort of—curved...” His finger traced the shape on Steve's skin.

Steve suppressed a shiver at the silly way his body thrilled at the sensation—it's not like it was the first time Bucky had ever touched him. Hell, he and Bucky had been _kissing_ for days. But anyway, Steve did remember that he'd had a scar there, though he honestly wasn't sure he remembered exactly what shape it had been—it was a little harder for him to properly see his own elbow, after all, so he nodded and said, “Yeah.”

Bucky's hand fell away and he took a quarter-step back, a self-deprecating smile twisting his lips. “It's just a bit confusing, trying to remember stuff, and here you are...” He made a gesture that encompassed Steve's torso. “All _different_ than I remember.”

“Um.” Steve grimaced a little, ducking his head then looking back up. “Sorry?” It's not like he'd been given a choice about the scars when the serum made him healthy and strong. “But,” he was quick to add, his smile encouraging and voice filled with hope, “it's still good—really good—that you're remembering.”

One side of Bucky's lips quirked up. “Yeah.” He shrugged, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “It is.” But there was a hint of sadness in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on characters and canon:  
> Magneto's contact, 'Angel', is Angel Salvador as seen in 'X-Men: First Class.'  
> 'Wilson' is Sam Wilson as seen in 'Captain America: The Winter Soldier.' (Not Wade Wilson, because, really, sending Deadpool as an emissary to anyone is probably really stupid, right?)
> 
> For the record, I don't have a fan casting for T'Challa (or Shannon Carter or either of Rhodey's kids). (And to my knowledge an official MCU casting has yet to be announced.) Maybe I should have actors picked out, since that would probably help you all with visualization and whatnot, but I don't. I'm open to suggestions, though, so feel free to toss some IMDB profiles my way or whatever. (If it helps, Shannon here is 15 and Michael and Lila are both in the 9-12 age range with Michael being roughly a year older than Lila.)


	15. You're the Boss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve tells Bucky to take his shirt off, and there is some chocolate syrup and a bunch of bananas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I happened to have this chapter ready a week early. Hope you enjoy. :)

They'd just finished clearing away the breakfast dishes when Steve turned to Bucky and said, “You feel like letting me draw you today? I mean, right now?”

They had an appointment with Bruce that afternoon and Pepper had invited them to dinner that evening, but there would likely be plenty of time before lunch to do a decent sketch.

Bucky smiled, warm and easy. “Sure.” He looked around. “Should I sit, lie down? In here or in the bedroom?”

“Um.” Steve rubbed at the back of his neck. “Wherever you're comfortable.”

Bucky quirked an eyebrow at him, the corner of his lips turning up. “Did you need practice with anatomy today, or am I keeping my clothes on?”

Steve ducked his head, trying to hide his blush and mumbling, “I don't 'need' anything.”

“Hey come on, Steve.” Bucky's voice was fond but taunting. “You're going to have to tell me what to do here.”

Oh. Right. Steve let out a breath. He could do this. “On the couch, Bucky—I want you to...lounge on the couch. Get comfortable, because drawing can take a while.” And, since Bucky wanted to be flirtatious. “Take off your shirt.” Steve tried not to blush. He was only partially successful. Meaning, he only blushed _a little_. “I want to draw you shirtless today. It will—” Well, he might as well explain this part properly. He looked Bucky in the eye. “I want to draw your arm, too. It'd be a bit hard to get it right, especially the first time, if I can't see all of it.”

Bucky didn't protest, just stripped off his shirt, his demeanour more relaxed and his smile content rather than taunting. Once he'd arranged himself on the couch in a lazy sprawl with his metal arm fully visible, he shot Steve a questioning look. “This okay?”

“Are you comfortable?” Steve readied his sketchbook and supplies. “Do you think you can hold that position for about an hour?”

Bucky looked at him as though maybe Steve had missed some obvious fact. “Steve, I could hold this position for twenty-four hours.”

And, right, Bucky had knelt on the floor of Steve's cabin for twelve hours that one time as some kind of self-imposed punishment. “Fair enough.” Steve kept his tone carefully light and casual. “But you're not going to; for right now, just stay still until I say you can move.” Looking down at the blank page in front of him, he bit the inside of his cheek. “You can talk, of course, just...stay still.”

“Yes, sir.” Bucky smirked just a little, but there was a flash of vulnerability in his eyes.

“Still okay?” Steve checked one more time, hand poised over the page. “Tell me how you feel.”

“Relaxed,” Bucky replied with a vaguely sleepy smile. “Comfortable.” But he shot Steve another questioning look.

Steve smiled reassuringly. “Good. That's good, Bucky. Let me know if you're uncomfortable, okay?”

“Okay,” Bucky replied. “But that's not going to happen for at _least_ another five hours.”

It was a little concerning that Bucky knew such specifics of how long he could stay still in one position. And obviously they'd need to have lunch before five hours was up. But Steve just said, “We'll be done before then—but if something happens, like, if you get a sudden charlie horse or something? Let me know.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I will. Now will you draw me already? You're the artist, but I'm pretty sure the pencil actually has to come in _contact_ with the paper.”

“Careful,” Steve teased as he finally did start drawing, “or I might not let you talk.”

Bucky's eyes widened slightly, and he swallowed, but he didn't exactly look worried.

o0o

“So I take it the chat with T'Challa went well.” Wilson's holo image was smiling in a way that would probably have been annoying if he weren't so good-looking and obviously good-natured.

Tony raised an eyebrow at him as he poured more chocolate syrup than either Pepper or Bruce would approve of into his coffee—the smell was invigorating. “Why? He say something positive about me?” Tony had mostly charmed his way through the conversation on autopilot, but one thing he could say for T'Challa was that the man was exceptionally attractive. Or maybe Tony was just at the point where he'd gone so long without sex that everyone was looking especially tantalizing. But he was pretty sure T'Challa was just hot, regardless.

Wilson grinned. “He seems impressed, and pleased. I think this deal is as good as done, because the way I understand it he's only got to finalize some things with Pepper now, and I can't think of a way that could go badly.”

Tony made a somewhat reluctant grunt of assent as he took a sip of gloriously chocolate-infused coffee. It was true, certainly, that Pepper was much better at diplomacy that he could ever be, but he didn't much appreciate Wilson pointing it out. Because, obviously, the implication was that Wilson had thought of at least a few ways Tony's own conversation with T'Challa might have gone very badly. It didn't matter, really, that Tony could probably think of more. Tony just knew himself better than Wilson knew him.

“I know I got this assignment because of the colour of my skin,” Wilson continued. “Because I happen to look more Wakandan than most of you do.” He shook his head, laughing softly. “And even though that's so obviously prejudiced, I can't even be mad because T'Challa's a great guy and it's been fun to get to know him.”

“Hey now,” Tony argued, making a grumpy face to show his objection, “if it was just about looks, I could have sent Rhodey—he probably looks more 'Wakandan' than you do.” Not that Tony was an expert on Wakandans, but still. He made vague circular gestures in the air towards Wilson's holographic face as he took a sip of his coffee. “You've got...skills. People skills, interpersonal skills. You're good at the whole...'talking to people and putting them at ease' thing.”

Wilson just shrugged, still smiling. “Whatever you say, Stark.”

“Yeah.” Tony took another sip of his coffee. “I do say.” Wilson was probably one of the most valuable assets Stark Industries had acquired _ever_ , though he most likely wouldn't exactly consider himself to be 'acquired' or appreciate the sentiment. Still, Tony had Steve to thank for finding the guy and convincing him that Stark Industries could provide a—relatively—safe harbour while the galaxy shattered around them all. Oh, and...right, speaking of Rogers... Tony looked up, meeting Wilson's holographic gaze. “Since T'Challa's letting you actually make calls and stuff now, you should probably get in touch with Steve; he, uh...” Tony nodded his head from side to side a bit, tapping his fingers against the warm metal of his mug. “He's been dealing with some...stuff lately, and—”

Wilson sat up straighter, a brow furrowing and warm brown eyes growing serious. “Is he okay?”

Tony pressed his lips together thoughtfully. “Well, he's...he's not exactly _not_ okay, I guess.” Though, 'okay' was a pretty vague term. One Tony wasn't exactly ideally equipped to define—like, Steve wasn't passing out half-naked at four in the morning in puddles of his own vomit, but that _could_ just be because he couldn't actually get drunk in the first place. What the heck did self-destructing even look like for people who weren't textbook narcissists? “I mean he's been dealing with everything probably a lot better than most people would.” Or at least better than Tony would. Tony frowned into the dark liquid in his mug. Maybe...maybe self-destructing for heroic bastards like Steve Rogers looked like letting his crazy assassin boyfriend break his ribs and beat him about the head. The pain in Tony's head might have been partly sympathetic. “But...there've been some developments...” Some of which he probably shouldn't share over holo call, now that he knew it was actually possible for at least one other person to hack JARVIS.

“Dammit, Stark.” Wilson sat back in his chair and glared at him as though he was thinking, 'You were supposed to take care of him'—which wouldn't exactly be fair, considering Tony couldn't adequately care for a pet rock. And even if Wilson didn't know that yet, _Steve_ knew. And Pepper knew. And Bruce and Happy and Rhodey knew. Steve Rogers couldn't be Tony's responsibility. No sane person would expect that. Somehow, Wilson's stupidly attractive face still looked warm and friendly, though, despite the glare. “I could have been contacted in emergencies. _He_ could have contacted me; he knew that.”

“Yeah, well.” Tony shrugged. “You know him about as well as I do...if not better.” Probably better—or maybe even a lot better—though Wilson hadn't known Steve nearly as long as Tony had. “You know he never asks for help unless the whole galaxy's in danger or whatever.” Tony's smile was a little bitter. “Never asks for anything for himself, always wants to prove he's tough enough to handle everything.”

Wilson sighed, shoulders hunching a bit as he looked down. “Yeah. I know.” He shifted in his chair, glancing to the side. “Look, I'll try to get done here a bit early and get back to the Tower asap.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “And I'll talk to him. I've got a pretty insanely busy couple days here still, but I'll— _make_ some time.”

Tony offered him a weak but relieved smile. Having Wilson around would probably be good for Barnes as well.

“Hey.” Wilson's expression softened, turning thoughtful. “How about you?” He regarded Tony over folded hands. “You doing okay?”

But Tony waved him off. “I'm fine; don't worry about me.” His lips turned up in a crooked half-smile around a sip of coffee. Trust the counsellor to be unable to turn counselling off for longer than five minutes. No doubt he had T'Challa all good and 'counselled', thinking about what made him happy and everything. “I've got Rhodey and Happy and Pepper—and Bruce—to take care of me.” He had JARVIS too, but he doubted Wilson would exactly appreciate his pointing that out—something about 'human' interaction being important. Tony could do with some human interaction himself, too, though not of the purely platonic kind. He smirked then remembered he still had the holo call on. Turning back to grin winningly at Wilson, he raised his mug and said, “To allies!”

Wilson had no drink, but he nodded in response. “And friends.”

o0o

As he drew, Steve slipped into his old familiar creative mindset—he'd gone too long without doing this, really. Probably far too long. But art couldn't exactly be a priority when every life in the galaxy was at stake. Still, it was always a great feeling to create something, to see a picture come together on the page. It felt satisfying—calming and exhilarating together. And Bucky was at once a familiar and an unfamiliar subject, with his new long hair and intricate metal arm adding challenges. But that was a good feeling too: pushing himself to draw something difficult, seeing if he could get it right. He didn't pay close attention to the time, but he was pretty sure he spent more on the arm than anything else.

Even the faint smell and quiet scratch of the pencil against the page were soothingly familiar, whispering that this was right. That this was what he should be doing. Steve paused to rub at the back of his neck—his muscles weren't sore, but he just felt a bit awkward. Maybe he enjoyed drawing a little too much.

But Bucky loved his art, wanted to be drawn. So that made it important.

Probably more important than the smooth way Bucky's hair brushed against his jaw in a soft wave that teased at being a curl. But that was a detail, that was part of Bucky, part of the picture. So it was important too.

Every time Steve glanced at Bucky's face, he saw Bucky watching him, and he wondered what could possibly be interesting about a guy hunched over a sketchpad moving only his eyes and his pencil.

Steve bit his lip thoughtfully. There was a bit of scarring where the metal arm met Bucky's body. And of course Steve had seen it before, but it was easy just not to think about it when he couldn't see it. And he hadn't exactly had a chance—or a reason—to examine it. He hoped it wasn't still painful. It kinda looked like maybe it might be, but Bucky had never complained. Steve just did his best to draw the scarring as he saw it; there'd be no point in leaving any detail out—it was all part of Bucky, now.

When he was finally done, Steve sat back, looking at the drawing, stretching his neck a bit from side to side. He looked up at Bucky and offered him a slightly hesitant smile. “Well, I'm done, so you can move now.”

Bucky sat up, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders.

“Would you like to see?” Steve tipped the sketchpad towards Bucky. It was a stupid question; he was pretty sure Bucky did in fact want to see.

“Yeah.” Bucky got up and walked over, leaning down so he could see the picture. “Wow,” he breathed. “That's...me. I mean, it's _beautiful_ , and it's...me.” He met Steve's eyes, his own filled with a sort of awed wonder. “You made me look beautiful.”

Offering Bucky a shy half-smile, Steve laid the sketchpad on the coffee table so he could take Bucky's hands. “You are beautiful, Buck. I just drew you.”

“But I—I don't—” Bucky looked at his metal arm in confusion, moving it so the metal plates flexed along the length of it. “I'm not like how I used to be.”

Steve shrugged, one side of his mouth tipping upwards. He rubbed his thumbs over the back of Bucky's hands. “Neither am I.”

Bucky didn't really move that fast, but Steve still wasn't expecting it, so it sort of seemed like he did as he straddled Steve's lap, took Steve's face in his hands—the flesh one wonderfully warm and pulsing with life, the metal one shockingly cold but not at all off-putting for its, well, _un_ life—and kissed him. Breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against Steve's and said, “Gods, Steve. I—you—” He pulled back further, hair hanging in his face as he ducked his head. “Sorry, I—I don't—” Bucky shook his head, pressing his lips into a grim line. “I'm sorry. I'm...” He clenched his jaw, finally meeting Steve's eyes again. “You're beautiful. I don't know if you know that, but you are. Every damn stupid thing about you is just—” He looked away again, grimacing slightly.

“Hey.” Steve slid his hand to the back of Bucky's neck and stroked his thumb gently against the side of it. “It's okay. And I—” He ducked his head, grinning bashfully as he felt his face heat. “I'm glad you think I'm—I mean, thanks.” It's not like it was exactly new for people to find Steve attractive, good-looking, beautiful. Hell, even Tony had made his appreciation of Steve's appearance pretty obvious. But it was different when it was Bucky. He looked up again, meeting Bucky's eyes. “Thank you.”

Bucky made a frustrated sound. “Have you even looked at yourself?” And then he surged forward, kissing Steve again, shaky and a little agitated. Breaking the kiss and closing his eyes, he rested his forehead against Steve's. “Can I see the picture again?”

“Yeah, sure, of course.” Steve reached for it, careful not to topple himself and Bucky off the chair. It was a little awkward, but he managed it.

Bucky made a pleased sound, nuzzling at Steve's hairline by his temple. He must have appreciated _not_ ending up on the floor.

Steve laughed softly. “Here.” Steve held the sketchpad so Bucky could see it—so long as he turned his head just a bit, and that's what he did.

Letting out a breath, Bucky brushed the fingers of his metal hand against the edge of the page. “It's not just the arm.” He voice was quiet, musing, a little awed. “You even made my _scars_ look beautiful.”

So, keeping one hand against the side of Bucky's neck to steady him, Steve leaned in and pressed his lips to that uneven flesh. Bucky's familiar scent was overlaid with the metallic tang of his arm—a scent Steve realized had also become familiar. Bucky inhaled sharply, so Steve pulled back, worry creasing his brow. “Does it hurt? Did I hurt you?”

“No.” Bucky shook his head. “Not even close.”

Setting the sketchbook on the coffee table once again, Steve looked at Bucky, questioning, as he brushed his fingertips over the seam where flesh met metal—the metal there was warm, warmed by close contact with his body, though hard and unyielding.

Bucky _had_ promised to tell Steve if he hurt him, but Bucky didn't seem to be in pain as he closed his eyes briefly, swallowing. His voice wavered a bit when he spoke. “You—you actually _care_ about me. I mean—” His eyes met Steve's. “You've made that very clear over and over, but...” He bit his lip and rolled his shoulders in a hint of a shrug. “It still feels like a surprise, I guess.”

Steve smiled softly, a confusing tangle of aching sadness and warm affection expanding in his chest. Bucky should never be _surprised_ that Steve cared about him, but...he didn't remember much from before—for the most part, they were fumbling about, trying to get to know each other all over again. Steve brushed a lock of Bucky's hair behind his ear and gently gripped the side of his neck. “Of course I care about you, Bucky. I love you. I always have.” He felt a dark twisting in his gut, but he wasn't _lying—_ he _had_ always loved Bucky. It wasn't his fault that 'love' meant so many different things. And how was he supposed to know how it would feel to be _in_ love with Bucky, anyway? He'd only ever been in love with Peggy, and she had been so new, a total mystery. She was exciting and terrifying, a great deal of the excitement directly due to the terror—falling in love with her had felt very much like falling off a cliff into a stormy sea, unsure if he'd be dashed against the rocks and yet still sure the risk was worth it. But from the time they were kids, Bucky had always been comfortingly familiar; falling in love with him would have to feel different, wouldn't it?

“Oh.” Bucky was staring at him, a soft, surprised, tentatively happy look on his face. Then he ducked his head, grimacing. “I've been bought and sold for more money than most people see in a lifetime, but you're the first person—that I remember—who's ever really valued me.” His voice sounded a little rough and a little awed.

Pulling Bucky fiercely against him, Steve pressed his face into Bucky's hair. “Of course I value you. I've never valued anything or anyone more.” A sudden powerful surge of possessiveness nearly took his breath away, and he pulled back, trying for calm. _That_ was disturbing as hell, and clearly not what Bucky needed when he was just getting over the screwed up stuff that HYDRA had done to him. Or, well, what Bucky needed _ever_.

Steve felt like he should apologize, but how could he even explain what he was apologizing for? So he just said, “I love you,” resting his forehead on Bucky's shoulder. And it was _true_ , so why did it still feel like a lie?

o0o

“I, uh...” Steve shifted somewhat awkwardly under him, so Winter quickly slid off his lap—serum or no, it was likely uncomfortable for someone as heavy as Winter to use Steve's legs as a chair for extended periods of time. “Sorry,” Steve said, glancing up at him apologetically as he pulled his Stark Phone from his pocket. “It's just—we have an appointment with Doctor Banner this afternoon.”

Winter nodded, taking a seat on the edge of the coffee table—it was pretty solid, shouldn't have trouble holding his weight. “I remember.” At least he could remember _some_ things—maybe not much that was important, but maybe this was important. Steve had told him about it twice already, explained about the option of having the doctor come to them, and said Winter should take some time to think about what would work best for him. Obviously, it would be easier for Steve and Winter to stay where they were, but that wouldn't be what was easiest for the doctor—it would take him time to walk to and from Steve's quarters, and he'd probably have to bring an assortment of equipment with him.

“It's nearly noon.” Steve looked up from his phone, meeting Winter's eyes. “We should have some lunch. And I need to let Doctor Banner know about the location for our appointment.” A gentle question twisted Steve's features. “Should I let him know to meet us here?”

Winter shook his head. “I can go to the lab.” He took Steve's hand in his flesh one. “You'll be with me. We'll take care of each other.” That's what they did. It was one of the most important lessons Steve had been teaching him.

Steve grinned broadly, but concern lurked in his beautiful eyes. He squeezed Winter's hand. “You're sure?”

Winter smiled softly, looking down then back up again and squeezing Steve's hand in response. “I'm sure.” He nodded to Steve's phone. “Send the message.”

Letting Winter's hand go so he could tap at the screen before him, Steve smiled a bit lopsidedly at him and murmured, “You're the boss.”

Winter blinked. Why did Steve _say_ things like that? Rather than being angry when his slave presumed to order him about, he actually seemed _pleased_. Or at the very least amused. With a quiet sigh, Winter leaned forward, resting his folded arms on his thighs. “When we see the doctor, you need to be the boss.” He glanced at Steve through his bangs, gauging his reaction.

But Steve just smiled, warm and affectionate, reaching out to pat Winter on the knee. “Sure thing, Buck; whatever you need.”

A lot of people might say that, 'whatever you need'—quite a bit less often to a slave, of course—but Steve might just _mean_ it.

o0o

“Bananas, as promised.” Tony set the bunch down on Bruce's desk, offering the doctor a smile. “A day late, but they're still not _quite_ ripe, so I don't think it matters much?”

Looking up from his tablet and turning towards Tony, Bruce offered him one of those smiles he probably had no idea were devastatingly attractive. “Oh, right.” He shoved his glasses up his nose with one knuckle. “I'd almost forgotten about the bananas.”

Standing next to Bruce's chair and leaning back against the edge of the desk, Tony raised an eyebrow. “Considering these things were the start of the whole pirate invasion, I can't really see how you could forget them—and, oh, speaking of, I trust our uninvited guests are all in reasonable health and not liable to spread any plagues to our good, law-abiding citizens?”

Quirking an eyebrow in response, Bruce looked up at him, amusement flickering in his eyes. “None of them are going to be spreading any plagues—but I wasn't aware we had 'laws' as such.”

Tony pressed his lips together thoughtfully. “Apparently we're civilization; I understand civilizations need...such things.”

Bruce laughed softly, nodding. “Usually, yes.” He raised an eyebrow as he looked up at Tony. “So what are our laws then? I feel it's only fair if you let your citizens know ahead of time—before we accidentally break some out of ignorance.”

“Well.” Tony pursed his lips. “Obviously, no hacking into stuff—hacking is a right reserved to me alone. Unless I grant temporary privileges to someone like Romanoff. And no attacking my friends unprovoked.” That was pretty important. Also, “If you happen to have a plague, do your best to avoid spreading it around. Um, probably a few others—you know what? I figure I'll let Pepper sort out the details for that sort of thing.”

Bruce nodded, expression impressively serious despite the laughter in his eyes. He inclined his head towards Tony. “A wise king listens to his counsellors.”

Tony shuddered, making a displeased sound. “Please don't call me a king.” He made a face, shoving a hand through his hair. “Pepper can be Queen, and I'll just be Court Jester.”

Nodding again, Bruce replied, “So long as you do a little alchemy from time to time with the Court Healer, I fully support that.”

Grinning broadly, Tony turned around to lean his forearms on the desk. “Yes, of course. _I_ fully support _that_ idea. The two of us need to do some science—I'm much better at that than politics, and it's much more fun. Plus...” He rubbed one thumb against his lower lip. “We could really use a working lie-detector—you know, one that works _all_ the time—and I'll need your help with that if I'm ever going to get something like that working at all.”

Bruce offered him a mild smile. “Sounds thrilling.” And Bruce probably _meant_ that too. “I've got an appointment at three today, though, so maybe tomorrow?” He tilted his head slightly to one side. “Unless this evening works for you?”

“Nah.” Tony shook his head. “Pepper and Happy have this...thing—apparently I have to be there.” He shot Bruce a somewhat confused look. “Weren't you invited as well?” It didn't seem like Pepper to exclude Bruce—Tony was pretty sure she and Happy both _liked_ him.

“Oh right, the dinner thing.” Bruce shrugged. “Pepper asked, but I said I had things I needed to catch up on here.”

And yeah, that made more sense. Perhaps a bit too much sense. Tony quirked an eyebrow. “Do you?”

Bruce grimaced. “It wasn't exactly a lie; I've had more patients since the Stark 1 got back than I had in the whole week before. So I do, technically, have...things. To do. Here.”

“I'm sure you could still change your mind...” Tony offered, because larger workload or not, it didn't sound like Bruce had anything urgent demanding his attention. And socialization now and then was good for everyone.

But Bruce shook his head, sighing. “I...need the quiet.”

Right. Yeah, that made sense. Bruce had been required to interact with Creed, Batroc, and Rumlow—though really, his meeting with Creed would have been more of a formality just to be sure his Gift was still working as expected—but even the most extroverted person might need some quiet time after running that personality gauntlet. Moving to clap Bruce on the back, Tony smiled, warm and sympathetic. “I'm free literally all of tomorrow. We could lock ourselves in one of the labs, let your staff—and congrats on having a staff, by the way, Mister 'Head of Science and Medical' or whatever you're calling yourself now.”

Bruce's smile was warm and a bit bashful. A hint of playfulness flashed in his eyes. “I thought I was 'Court Healer'?”

Shaking his head, Tony smacked his bicep, unable to suppress a grin. “Yeah, whatever you want; you're the one in charge here—your domain, your decisions. Call yourself Florence Nightingale if you like. But anyway, your staff can handle the medical stuff, and we can do science all day—how's that sound?”

There was something wistful in Bruce's smile. “It sounds fantastic.”

Leaning towards him, Tony raised his eyebrows expectantly. “So it's a date?”

Bruce's shoulders shook with laughter as he took off his glasses and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. “Call it whatever you like; so long as it's just you, me, and science, I'm in.”

Joking and flirting aside, that sounded perfect to Tony as well.


	16. Like an Adult

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a doctor's appointment and a dinner party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there's something in my story that you feel warrants a warning (not specific to this chapter, but just in general), please let me know, and I'll be happy to add a warning. I'm pretty sure I tend to under-warn.

Steve held Winter's hand the for whole walk to the medical lab. The hallways didn't feel nearly as threatening as they had before. Winter kept focused and alert, carefully mapping the route in his head. Steve had combed Winter's hair for him after lunch, so he was still sort of floating on that glorious calm.

When they walked through the lab doors, a somewhat nervous but friendly looking man with glasses and greying dark hair greeted them, extending his hand to Winter and introducing himself as 'Doctor Bruce Banner.'

“Bruce is a good friend of mine,” Steve said, apparently more for Banner's benefit than Winter's, since Steve had already told him that before.

Swallowing and doing his best to hide his nervousness, Winter released Steve's hand to accept the doctor's handshake. Despite Banner's hesitant demeanour, his handshake was warm and sure.

Once the doctor had released his flesh hand, Winter took Steve's hand again.

The lab was large and bright and very clean. _Too_ large and _too_ bright. The lab aboard the Stark 1 had been smaller. The smell of disinfectant hung in the air. Winter squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

Steve squeezed his hand, voice pitched low as he said, “It's all right, Bucky. You're safe.”

Though of course he wasn't, not really. But then, perhaps the biggest and most real threat—Doctor Banner himself, or rather his alter ego—was paradoxically what Winter feared the least. And he couldn't quite put into words whatever it was he feared the most. Maybe something not quite remembered. He squeezed Steve's hand and tried to calm his breathing.

But Doctor Banner had a quiet air about him that Winter found soothing as he led them to a quiet alcove with an exam table and lighting that was at least somewhat less bright. Winter obediently did as the doctor asked, stripping off his shirt and sitting on the exam table. Steve sat beside him, a solid, calming presence. He wanted to lay his head on Steve's shoulder, but he made himself sit upright and at least pretend to be a functional adult.

“You need some of his blood?” Steve asked, frowning, an undercurrent of protest in his voice. Doctor Banner looked like he was about to reply and Winter himself was about to say it was okay—because it really was—but then Steve just ducked his head a bit and said, “Right.” A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Will you need some of mine as well?”

“Sure,” Doctor Banner replied with an easy smile. “Might as well.”

So they both had blood drawn and stored away in carefully marked vials. Winter was extra careful not to show any sign of discomfort—it wouldn't be wise to act as though the doctor was hurting him, especially not in front of Steve. Steve, of course, didn't seem phased by the needle either.

Doctor Banner examined where Steve's injury had been, confirming that it appeared to be fully healed, then turned his attention to Winter and where his metal arm joined his flesh.

“Does it hurt at all?” Banner asked, eyes narrowed as he examined the area from every angle.

Winter shook his head. “Sometimes the muscles are sore here.” He showed the doctor where they tended to knot up. “But I'm not in any pain right now.”

Nodding, Doctor Banner made a note on his tablet. “That's very much what I would expect, the tension there.” He inclined his head towards Winter's shoulder. “In most cases, I'd prescribe a muscle relaxant to help with that, but I'm not sure it would have any effect in your case.” He fiddled with the arm of his glasses. “I haven't been able to find much in the way of medications that actually work on Steve, and it is my understanding—from what I could find of your medical records—that the serum you were given had quite similar effects.”

Winter shrugged. To his knowledge, he had never been given a muscle relaxant, so he had no way of knowing if one would work. “It's fine; it was worse than usual this morning.” He glanced sideways at Steve, offering him a small, warm smile. “But Steve massaged it and that really helped.”

“Massage is a very good idea.” Banner nodded, gesturing towards Winter's shoulder with his tablet. “Of course, it's going to be an ongoing problem unless we treat the underlying issue, that being the way the arm is attached—and perhaps the weight of it as well.” He frowned thoughtfully. “I'll do some research, talk to Tony, see what I can figure out from the scans...” He blew out a breath through his lips. “There might not be anything I can do, but I would like to help if it _is_ possible.”

Winter shrugged again and looked at Steve. “It's really fine right now.”

Steve offered him a soft smile. “I really don't mind massaging it.” Well, of course he didn't—any excuse to touch Winter, after all. That _was_ something Steve had wanted from the beginning.

Winter managed to suppress a smirk, though Steve might have seen it in his eyes.

“Well, like I said.” Banner was smiling mildly. “I'll look into it, see what I can find out. Any possibilities, I'll let you know.”

He asked Winter a few more questions about the arm and the place where it joined his flesh, but it was fine. No pain or anything, just the scarring. He seemed pleased with Winter's overall health and asked about his diet. Since he'd been eating the same as Steve, there weren't any concerns there, just 'keep up the good work' and remember to eat when you're hungry. Not that Steve ever let him really _get_ hungry.

“And how are you sleeping?” Doctor Banner looked expectantly at him.

Winter swallowed, glancing at Steve. “Usually, I sleep well.” Which was true. It was nice to have an actual bed, and nicer to share it with Steve. “But...” Winter looked down. “Sometimes I have nightmares.”

Steve took his hand, giving it a squeeze.

“So do I,” Banner said softly, and Winter's eyes shot up to meet his. For all that he still wore a labcoat, he'd dropped the entire 'doctor' persona and was just a man. A man with understanding in his eyes. He offered Winter a sad smile. “I wish I had a cure for that; I really do.” He grimaced sympathetically, and he was a doctor again. “I could offer you the same sedative I've given Steve—he's reported...very mild effects.”

Winter wet his lips. He laced his fingers through Steve's. “Would it help me have less nightmares?”

Banner grimaced again. “In theory, it could.”

Winter turned to Steve again.

Steve shrugged. “All it's ever really done is help me fall asleep. Not—not stay asleep.”

Doctor Banner nodded resignedly. “Most likely, it can't stay in your system long enough to do more than that—you'd need it constantly administered by IV. Which...I don't have to tell you would be somewhat inconvenient.”

“I'd like to try the sedative,” Winter blurted, then ducked his head, hunching a little closer to Steve's side. He glanced back up at the doctor. “It can't make things worse, can it?” If there was even a chance it could help protect Steve from a repeat of the previous night, Winter would take it.

“I don't think so,” Banner replied. “In the average human, it would cause...rather extreme grogginess for an extended period of time, but it should affect you in much the same way it affects Steve.”

Which, of course, was very little effect at all, but... Winter looked at Steve. “I want to try it.”

Steve offered him a small smile. “Well, it's okay with _me_.”

And that was a gentle reminder that Winter had made a mistake, that he'd acted too much like a _slave_ when he was supposed to be a _friend_. A friend who could—and should—make decisions for himself. Winter bit his lip and swallowed the 'sorry' that wanted to slide out between his teeth. He made himself look back at Doctor Banner, made his voice calm and steady. “I want to try the sedative.”

So Doctor Banner got him a small bottle of pills and explained the dosage—one pill when he wanted to sleep, two if the first didn't seem to work, don't take more than that in four hours without consulting the doctor—even though the instructions were printed on the label.

At the end of the appointment, Winter asked Banner if he could put his contact info into his phone.

“Of course.” Banner smiled, pleased and at ease, as he accepted the phone and handed his own to Winter.

But more importantly, Steve looked pleased, shooting him a small smile. Winter was getting better at this. Even in a lab and with an unfamiliar and undeniably dangerous new person.

Winter contemplated for a bit too long what to enter as his name, but finally settled on 'Bucky Barnes' this time, even though he was pretty sure there weren't many other 'Bucky's around, because just 'Bucky' felt too informal.

o0o

Tony showed up early—about two hours early—for dinner, insisting he was there to 'help', but of course they all knew he just wanted to bug Pepper and Happy and generally be obnoxious. Because it was _fun_.

“Admit it,” he challenged, tossing an olive into his mouth then talking around it as he chewed. It was one of those garlic-stuffed olives, because Pepper had good taste. “You guys are so bored when I'm not around.”

“I'm really not sure how the rest of the galaxy gets on without you,” Pepper replied in a near-perfect display of sincerity as she washed an assortment of vegetables under the sink sprayer.

“You know,” Happy said, giving Tony a _look_ , “you could _actually_ help.”

Tony shot him his most innocent smile, leaning back against the counter and resting his hands on its cool surface. “I wouldn't want to get in your way.”

“The kitchen is huge,” Happy shot back. It _was_ pretty big, rivalling Tony's own kitchen—though he was pretty sure they did a lot more actual cooking in theirs than he ever did in his. Even had marble tops on the counters and the island, and while marble wasn't exactly difficult to _find_ it was somewhat difficult to _transport_ due to its weight and such. Most ships and stations used metal or synthetics, but he was Tony Stark, so luxury quarters on his space station lived up to the descriptor.

“Besides,” Pepper added, tossing him a wry smile over her shoulder, “what do you think you're doing right now? Leaning against the counter, leaving open olive jars all over the place?”

Tony made a shocked sound and shot her a wounded look, placing one hand over his heart. “I'll have you know I'm perfectly capable of cleaning up after myself.”

Shaking her head as she turned back to the sink, Pepper muttered something that may have been a not quite sincere, 'I remember.'

“Here,” Happy said, handing him a stack of plates with a bunch of cloth napkins piled on top. “Make yourself useful.”

Before Tony could even protest, Pepper did, but not in the way Tony would have liked: “Wash your hands first!”

So Tony washed his hands. And then set the table.

o0o

As they left the lab, Steve gave Winter's hand a squeeze. “Feeling up to anything else this evening, or should we just head back?”

Right. The dinner thing with Pepper and Happy. Winter mustered the energy to quirk an eyebrow. “Do _you_ want to go?”

Steve shrugged. “It doesn't matter to me.” Stepping closer, he brushed a lock of hair behind Winter's ear. “I just want to make sure you're okay.”

There was no doubt Steve was being honest, but... Steve had barely seen any of his friends since arriving at Avenger Tower—a doctor's appointment with Banner hardly counted. Of course he'd want to enjoy having dinner with them. The fact that Steve would choose to spend the evening holed up in his quarters with his worse than useless slave over socializing made Winter want to grind his teeth. Instead, he tried for a soft smile, lacing his fingers with Steve's. “I'd love to have dinner with your friends, Steve.”

“All right.” Steve rewarded Winter with a bright smile, so it was worth it.

o0o

It would seem—based on the number of place settings Happy had given Tony, which should by rights be a reliable gauge—that they were expecting a total of eight people. Not that the table could have seated more than that unless everyone really liked each other a whole awful lot. With Pepper, Happy, and Tony himself already accounted for, that left five more to come.

Hill was the first to arrive—Tony didn't count himself, since he was already there—followed closely by Carter. Pepper hadn't even gotten the door closed behind Hill—or 'Maria', as she called her with a warm smile—before Carter appeared. “Sharon.” Pepper's smile was equally warm. “It's great to see you.” She even hugged them both.

No one had hugged Tony. Not that he'd expected any hugs. Or wanted any. That was just one of those 'girl' things, where they were all huggy in public to express their female solidarity or some crap, though perhaps Pepper was the ringleader in this case. He'd even seen _Romanoff_ let Pepper hug her, and she didn't even let Barton hug her in public.

o0o

“Steve; Bucky.” Pepper's smile was warm as she greeted them and ushered them inside. “So glad you could make it.”

Steve kinda itched to draw her in her white dress with its understated lines, the bright gold of her earrings complementing the pale peach of her skin and soft ginger of her hair. The toenails of her bare feet were painted a sort of deep wine red. He'd need colour, of course. Maybe his oil pastels.

“Glad to be here,” Steve replied, returning her smile. “Wow; something smells delicious.”

Pepper's eyes brightened and her smile broadened. “Happy's cooking a very large roast—I just hope it's done on time.”

Tony approached, a very unsurprising drink in his hand. “Our chosen frozen have arrived.” He grinned at Steve and Bucky. “Good to see you both. Would either of you like a drink? Happy's drafted me as bartender.”

“At least he got someone with experience,” Bucky said, amusement flashing in his eyes. His head was ducked a bit, but his grin was almost cocky.

Steve couldn't help grinning as well. He'd been worried Bucky wasn't up to socializing, had expected the best case scenario to involve Bucky offering brief answers to direct questions _without_ looking like he was staring down a rocket-launcher. So this was amazing. And humbling, because of course Steve had underestimated Bucky.

Tony quirked an eyebrow at Bucky. “I'm going to just take that as a compliment and assume you do want a drink.”

“Good,” Bucky replied, still grinning as he raised his chin and shook his hair out of his face, “because I do.”

o0o

As Tony led them into the living room—where the bar was visible against the far wall—Winter saw two women sitting together on one of the two couches. One, the blonde, he'd seen before; she'd come to Steve's quarters the previous night, and Steve had called her 'Sharon' then. The other had brown hair, and was completely unfamiliar—either he'd never seen her, or he just didn't remember. They were both clearly fighters, though they didn't appear to be armed at present. Baseline humans. Likely quite skilled, but still minimal threats against even one supersoldier. And, more importantly, likely _on Steve's side_.

“Hill; Carter,” Tony said, jerking his head towards Steve and Winter as he moved behind the bar. “Come meet the new guy. Or.” He paused, expression considering. “The old guy—the _other_ old guy.”

Carter. That would be the blonde: Sharon Carter. Peggy's niece. If he hadn't been so busy caring for Steve and distracted by nightmares and doctor's appointments, he probably could have made the connection between 'Sharon' and Peggy already. The internet listed her as being a nurse—and maybe she was. Much like Banner was a doctor.

Hill and Carter both rose and approached. Steve smiled, looking between them and Winter. “Bucky, these are my friends, Sharon and Maria.” He indicated them each in turn. “Maria, Sharon, this is my best friend Bucky Barnes.” His smile for Winter was warm, his eyes soft.

Before either woman had a chance to respond, Tony cut in, “He says, 'best friend,' but he means, 'boyfriend'—they hold hands in public and everything. It's revolting.” He exaggerated a disgusted shudder, looking down at whatever he was doing behind the bar. Steve was blushing then of course, so Winter shot Tony a dirty look, but Tony just smiled mildly back at him, sliding a drink across the bar to him—some sort of amber liquid with ice. “Don't tell me you're going to start denying it now.” Turning to point at Steve, Tony said, “Drink?” but didn't give Steve time to reply, just turned his attention back to his task. “It won't do you any good, but I'll make you one anyway—and don't worry, I remember you don't like rum. Well, I had JARVIS make a note, because I'm actually shit at remembering stuff like that.”

Sharon and Maria were standing there, both looking a little awkward as they watched the whole thing. Sharon was the first to speak. “It's great to meet you, Bucky.”

Maria nodded, offering him a bit of a smile. “You probably get tired of people saying this, but it is truly an honour.”

Neither offered to shake his hand—maybe because he was holding his drink in his flesh hand. In any case, he was somewhat grateful.

Maria reclaimed her seat, and Sharon followed.

Winter sat beside Steve on the other couch. He took a sip of his drink. It was bitter. It was probably _supposed_ to be bitter. It wasn't bad.

Tony was handing Steve a drink that looked much the same as the one he'd given Winter when Rhodey walked in. “Rhodey,” Tony said. “Have you met—?” He looked at Sharon and Maria.

Rhodey smiled broadly. “I haven't had the pleasure.”

“Well, they're friends of Steve's.” Tony turned back towards the bar, unconcerned. “So I'll let him do the intros.”

Sliding forward a bit to sit nearer the edge of the couch, Steve cleared his throat. He looked at Sharon and Maria. “Sharon, Maria, this is my friend Rhodey.” Turning to Rhodey, he added, “Rhodey, these are my friends, Sharon and Maria. We were all in SHIELD together.”

Rhodey flopped down in a chair facing the two women. He gave Maria a questioning look. “Maria Hill?”

She nodded.

“James Rhodes,” Rhodey said. “Pretty sure you're kind of my new boss.”

Maria shrugged one shoulder. “I'm in charge of Tower security, so I'm not sure that makes me your _direct_ superior. But I do remember your name in the roster.”

Rhodey grinned lazily. “Tony's got me doing more bartending than security anyway.”

“Hey, wise guy,” Tony said, sounding a little miffed. “Wanna come over here and make your own drink?”

Rhodey shook his head, showing Tony his teeth. “Nah. Feet hurt. Gonna stay right here.” He smirked. “But I'll take a drink, if you're offering.”

Sliding into the chair next to Rhodey's, Pepper tapped him once on the arm. “How're the kids?”

“Oh, they're fine.” Rhodey threaded his fingers together in his lap, nodding. “Excited that I'm back—but they didn't protest the babysitter this evening.”

Pepper cocked her head to one side. “Are they with my Aunt Patricia?”

Rhodey shook his head. “Not this time—she was having a bit of a headache and wanted to lie down, so Shannon's watching them.” Turning to incline his head at Sharon, he added, “She's your niece?”

Sharon nodded, smiling and pushing a lock of her hair behind her ear.

Rhodey smiled. “She seems like a good kid.”

“She is.” Sharon took a sip of her drink. “Best anyone could ask for.”

“I know Lila's _ecstatic_ to have her around.” Rhodey grinned. “I'll probably come back later this evening to find they've painted Michael's nails, trashed the living room doing martial arts, and built a levitating repair droid out of the toaster—if I'm lucky, it'll still make toast.”

Sharon offered him a sympathetic grin. “If you need any help cleaning up, Shannon's really quite skilled at it.”

Rhodey waved an unconcerned hand. “She's a kid; wouldn't want to keep her up late—besides, Lila and Michael can always use a bit of practice with cleaning.” He grinned broadly.

“Pepper,” Maria said, shifting in her seat—the ice in her drink made soft tinkling sounds against the sides of the glass. “Have you heard anything more recent from Natasha or Clint? Last I heard, they were supposed to be back today.”

“Natasha spoke to me this afternoon, and they're fine,” Pepper assured her, smoothing her hands over the white material of her skirt. “But it's taking a bit longer than they expected, so they'll probably be at least another day.”

Nodding, Maria relaxed against the back of the couch. “It will be nice to see her again—well, both of them.”

Winter leaned a bit into Steve's side. He wasn't feeling _too_ overwhelmed, but Steve's solid warmth was still a comfort.

Steve flashed Winter a small smile. He couldn't take his hand since Winter still had his drink in it, but he put his hand on Winter's knee, and it was a welcome weight—warm, through the fabric of his pantleg.

Tony handed Rhodey a drink, and Rhodey murmured thanks. Tony shrugged. “I figure you need it more than most of us do, what with two kids running you ragged.”

Taking a sip of the drink and wincing at the burn, Rhodey shook his head. “They're at the age now when they can mostly take care of themselves. It's not bad.”

“Still.” Tony leaned against the arm of Rhodey's chair. “Kids.” He shuddered. “I'm sure I couldn't handle even one at any age.” He took a sip of his own drink. “I'd hire, like, an army of nannies.”

Winter set his drink down on an end table so he could put his flesh hand over Steve's on his knee. He frowned when he noticed his stupid hand was shaking a bit.

Steve turned his own hand to catch Winter's and hold it still. “You okay, Buck?” His voice was pitched so only Winter would be able to hear.

Squeezing Steve's hand gratefully, Winter leaned a bit further into him. He pitched his own voice so only Steve would hear. “I'm just...” Overwhelmed? Tired? He was those things and more, but he needed to be _better_. For Steve. This evening was important.

“ _Breathe_ , Bucky,” Steve reminded him, voice still low. “I'm here; you're safe.”

The order helped, and Winter offered him a grateful smile. His hand had even stopped trying to shake.

Steve raised it to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of it, keeping his eyes on Winter's.

Tony cleared his throat pointedly. He was half-sitting on the arm of Rhodey's chair. “Rogers, Barnes: friendly reminder that you're not the only ones in the room.” Steve shot him an unimpressed look, but Tony just turned to Maria and Sharon, rolling his shoulders in something like a shrug. “I told you they were revolting.”

Steve didn't let go of Winter's hand, just lowered it to rest on his own thigh. “We can leave,” he offered quietly, voice still pitched so only Winter would hear.

But it was obvious he was only offering for Winter's sake, because he thought Winter couldn't handle sitting in a room while people talked. And Winter wasn't a godsdamned _toddler_ ; he could behave like an adult and let Steve socialize. He shook his head, squeezing Steve's hand and quietly replying, “I want to stay.” Turning, he raised an eyebrow at Tony in challenge, pitching his voice at a 'normal' level. “I could _show_ you 'revolting', Stark.”

“Oh, I'll bet you could.” For all it's answering challenge, Tony's grin was also...suggestive.

Rhodey swatted Tony's leg without even looking at him. “Play nice, Tony, or you'll have to sit in the corner.”

“I'm not one of your kids, Rhodey,” Tony countered.

Rhodey made a noise that was partway between a grunt and a snort. “Thank _all_ the gods for that.”

“Food's ready,” Happy called, sticking his head around the corner from the kitchen. The heady smell of cooked meat confirmed the truth of his statement. “Everyone find a seat at the table—just leave one next to Pepper for me.”

o0o

They were all enjoying the food—and the roast was kind of excellent, if Tony was being honest, nice and red in the middle, and full of juice—when Pepper began. “Happy and I have an announcement,” she said, eyes warm as she took Happy's hand. And, oh, there really was only one way this could go. Still, everyone turned expectant faces towards her. Her eyes shone. “In about six or seven months, we will be welcoming a baby into our family.”

What followed was the expected chorus of 'congratulations'—Hill spoke first, but then Steve, Rhodey, and Carter were all saying it at once, sort of like some creepy cultish chant. Barnes was just a little behind the rest—he was sitting at Tony's right with Steve on the other side of him, because those two were incapable of sitting unless they were nearly on top of each other. Tony suppressed a shudder at how they must sleep. Rogers was probably also acting as a shield between Barnes and Hill—perhaps it was a compliment that Tony was allowed to sit next to Barnes, but Steve hadn't yet devised a way to sit on both sides of his boyfriend at the same time.

“Have you picked out names yet?” Tony asked, setting his fork down on the side of his plate.

“For a girl, we'd agreed on Helen,” Pepper replied, folding her hands and resting her elbows on the table. “Helen Patricia.”

Tony fiddled with the corner of his napkin. “And for a boy?”

Pepper looked at Happy, and Happy looked back at her, and it was obvious from the pause that they hadn't quite settled on a boy's name.

“You know,” Tony said casually, shifting slightly in his seat. “'Anthony' is—”

“No,” Pepper cut him off without even looking at him. He was probably lucky she didn't kick him under the table, though she might just not be able to reach—or she might kick Rhodey instead.

Tony grinned, thoroughly unrepentant. “'Edward', then?”

Rhodey elbowed him, but he was laughing silently. Tony never knew if Rhodey sat next to him because he liked his company or so he could do things like that. Maybe both.

“We're not naming our child after you, Tony.” Pepper looked down, shaking her head, expression both amused and annoyed.

“I like 'James',” Happy supplied with a shrug. “But Pepper says it's too common.”

Well, she wasn't wrong, but... “So you'd name your baby after Rhodey, but not me.” Tony turned a hurt look on Rhodey as if it was somehow his fault. Which it may very well have been.

“We're not naming the baby James.” Pepper sat straighter in her chair, looking a little less amused.

“We actually both like 'Nicholas' or 'Philip',” Happy added, probably trying to steer the conversation into safer waters.

And Tony really couldn't argue with either of those names, considering.

“Why not both?” Steve smiled at Happy and Pepper. “Nicholas Philip Hogan.” Then he ducked his head a bit, face betraying a flash of embarrassment. “Or was it going to be Potts?”

Pepper smiled warmly at Steve. “Well, I think 'Helen Potts' sounds better than 'Helen Hogan', so if it's a girl, she'll be Potts. But 'Nicholas Philip Hogan' sounds fine to me, probably better than 'Nicholas Philip Potts'.” She turned a questioning look on Happy, but he just shrugged.

“What if it's twins?” Tony asked.

“It's not twins.” Pepper shot him a bit of a glare.

“You don't know that for sure.” Tony grinned cockily.

“Sharon,” Pepper said, “tell him it's not twins.”

“The chances of it being twins are—” Carter began.

“Not zero.” Tony's grin was triumphant. “You're pretty darn sure, but that's all.” He'd read up on this sort of thing once; he knew what was possible.

Happy looked around the table. “It's not twins,” he said, as though he could change the likelihood.

And of course it wouldn't be twins. Probably. The chance of an undetected twin was tiny—very nearly zero—as Carter had of course been about to say. But it was too much fun to watch Pepper and Happy squirm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout-out to Girmie, who called Pepper's pregnancy way back in chapter 10.
> 
> Notes on characters and canon:  
> The name 'Helen' is from H.E.L.E.N. aka P.E.P.P.E.R., an AI in Earth-616 based on Pepper Potts.  
> In case it's not immediately obvious, the names 'Nicholas' and 'Philip' are for Nicholas Fury and Philip Coulson.


	17. Any Gods Who Might be Listening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam gives advice, Steve's an 'uncle', and there are some new arrivals at the Tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *stealthily posts chapter a week early*

When they finally got back to Steve's quarters after the dinner, Winter was exhausted. He'd made himself stay—until Rhodey left and Steve suggested they go as well—made himself be good so Steve could enjoy the evening, enjoy socializing with his friends like he deserved. That was especially important, considering everything.

“Buck?” Steve had his hand on Winter's bicep and concern in his eyes. “You okay?”

Winter realized he'd zoned out for a bit, just standing inside the door. “Sorry.” He waved away Steve's concern—or tried to; it might not work, but he had to try. “Just...tired.” 'Tired' wasn't a lie; he _was_ tired.

Steve offered him a sympathetic smile. “I guess it is kinda late.” It was only nine. “And it's been a long day.” It had been.

Nodding, Winter headed to the bathroom. He probably should have offered to let Steve go first, but there was exactly zero chance he'd actually take Winter up on that offer, so it just seemed pointless—a waste of time and energy. He splashed warm water over his face then rubbed it off with a towel. He hated being a burden to Steve. It was expected that it would take some time to re-train and bond a new slave, but Steve's methods were just so _slow_. Not that Winter didn't feel bonded to Steve, but it was different. It felt different. It felt, at least in part, like something he had to _remember_ , and his memory was crap.

Opening the pill bottle Doctor Banner had given him earlier that day, Winter dumped two pills into the cap. Might as well start with two—why waste time trying one when even two might not work? 'No nightmares tonight?' he prayed, half-serious, to any gods who might be listening. Winter washed the pills down with a few swallows of water then fell into bed.

o0o

After breakfast the next morning, Steve's phone alerted him to a text from Sam. He couldn't help the grin that spread across his face when he read the name—it had been so damn long since he'd heard from Sam. But Sam had been busy, on an important assignment and only to be contacted in emergencies. If he was texting Steve, though, maybe he was done with that. Steve pulled the message up:

_Steve, man, you up for a holo call?_

A holo call sounded great—almost as good as seeing Sam face to face would be, but... Steve looked over to where Bucky sat on the other end of the couch, poking at his own phone—he really did seem to enjoy using it. Steve wondered sometimes what Bucky did all the time on his phone, but it felt rude to pry. It's not like it was any of Steve's business. And besides, Pepper and Tony both spent probably as much time on their phones, if not more, so it wasn't exactly strange.

Steve pursed his lips thoughtfully. He wasn't sure if Sam wanted to talk about something private—of course he could go into the bedroom and close the door, but he didn't want to seem rude or like he was shutting Bucky out, so he typed back to Sam:

_Only if you want to talk to Bucky too; he's here with me._

After a brief pause, Sam's replies appeared—three messages, each appearing just as Steve had read the previous:

_Hey, I'd love to talk to Bucky! If he wants to talk to me, haha._  
 _Pepper filled me in on that good news, by the way, and I have to say that's awesome!  
_ _But I did have some things I'd like to talk to just you about – going to be back at the Tower in a few days, so maybe it'd be better to talk then, unless you want to just do it over text or whatever._

Steve considered the options for a bit. Bucky hadn't wanted to talk to Bruce over holo but had liked him when they met face to face. Maybe it would be better to do the same thing with Sam. And if Sam would be back at the Tower in a few days, he could just talk to Sam then himself. So he sent to Sam:

_That's great to know you'll be back here soon! It'll be awesome for you and Bucky to meet. :)_

He hit 'send' then added:

_What did you want to talk to me about?_

Sam's reply appeared after a moment:

_Just wanting to check on how you're doing. Some big changes for you lately._

And that was certainly the truth. Steve typed his reply:

_Yeah. Did you hear about Peggy?_

Again, Sam's reply didn't take long:

_Yeah, and sorry, man. That's rough. How are you holding up?_

Steve scratched at the back of his head. It had been a bit rough at first, but he was okay. So he sent back:

_I'm fine, doing well. The funeral is tomorrow._

After a moment, Sam replied:

_Sorry I won't be back for that. But call or text me if you need to, okay? It's no longer 'only in emergencies'._

Smiling, Steve sent back:

_Good to know. Hope the mission is going well._

Sam's reply appeared after a short pause:

_Mission is great. Hey, if there's anything you need to talk about, anything at all – I can be a listening ear, or reading eye or whatever._

Steve chuckled softly, then sent:

_Like I said, I'm fine. Just kinda wish I could get a break sometimes._

It didn't take too long for Sam to reply:

_Yeah, man, I get it. That's totally understandable. And you DESERVE a break too – that's important. Maybe go to the gym or take an extra long shower. Do something for YOU._

The gym did sound like a good idea, but of course Steve couldn't go without Bucky—Bucky needed the gym as much as he did. But they should go soon—Steve needed to show him around. The facilities at the Tower were much larger and more varied than those aboard the Stark 1. Steve typed a reply to Sam:

_Thanks, Sam. :)_

Then, after pressing 'send', Steve realized he kind of wanted to ask Sam about something else, and maybe he shouldn't wait until he got back. Sam _had_ said to text him about anything at all. So he typed another message:

_Hey, can I ask you about something?_

Sam's reply was nearly instantaneous:

_Of course, Steve._

So Steve grimaced, stretched his fingers, and sent back:

_Um, I don't know if Pepper or Tony or anyone told you, but Bucky and I are sort of together now. As a couple._

After hitting 'send', Steve rubbed at the back of his neck. Maybe Sam wasn't the best person to ask for relationship advice, but...for whatever reason, he was the person Steve felt the most comfortable asking.

Sam's reply didn't take long:

_I'd make some crack about you guys moving fast, but considering you've known each other for most of a century, I guess not so much._

Grinning, Steve sent back:

_Yeah, not really. :P_

Sam's reply popped up:

_But you said you had a question, so shoot._

Hunching down slightly in his seat, Steve subtly angled his phone's screen away from Bucky—not that Bucky could see anyway or was even paying attention, but it just felt safer that way. He was being silly; he knew that. But Bucky wasn't looking, and Sam couldn't see. He typed to Sam:

_Bucky told me he's been in love with me since...well, pretty much forever. And I never knew._

Sam replied:

_Okay. So now you know. How do you feel about that?_

Guilty—Steve felt _guilty_. But he didn't really want to explain that or why, and he also didn't think that was really the point. So he typed:

_I love him. I know I do. But when I say it...it feels like a lie._

Steve wasn't even sure he should have sent that, and grimaced as he waited for Sam's reply, but it just said:

_You're not sure if you're 'in' love with him._

Because of course Sam understood. Steve let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding and sent back:

_Yeah._

It took a bit longer, but Sam's response appeared:

_It's okay to be unsure. It's okay to give yourself time. I'm not exactly the 'love expert', but I do know it can be confusing – it can feel different than you expect. And no one else can tell you if you're in love; that's something you gotta figure out for yourself._

Steve let his head rest against the back of the couch. It could feel different—that's what he'd thought himself, and now Sam confirmed it. Maybe he wasn't a terrible fraud after all. Trying his hardest not to blush—because Bucky might see that and wonder _why_ —Steve typed once more:

_I think he wants to have sex with me._

It took even longer—which was understandable once Steve saw the length of the message—but Sam sent back:

_First, for the record, that's entirely understandable. ;) Second, not everyone jumps into having sex right away, and joking aside, even when you have known someone forever, it's still a big change to go from friends to more than that, so don't feel like you're 'supposed' do anything you're not ready for. Take your time. Talk about it. Figure out between the two of you what you want. Just because he's being flirty and suggestive doesn't mean HE'S even ready, so yeah. The only right answer here is the one that feels right for BOTH of you._

Steve allowed himself a small, relieved smile. Talking to Sam always made him feel at least a little better. So he sent back:

_Thanks, Sam._

And Sam replied:

_Anytime._ _And_ _I mean that, by the way_.

Steve smiled again, broader and more relaxed. Of course Sam meant it.

o0o

Walking into the lab and dropping his bag on the nearest surface, Tony called out, “Honey, I'm home!”

“Tony.” Smiling, Bruce looked up from where he was seated at one of the lab tables. Sliding out of his seat, he walked towards Tony saying, “I didn't know what time you'd be here, since you aren't usually up this early unless you've just _stayed_ up—you didn't just _stay_ up, did you?” He cocked his head to one side, expression more gently concerned than snarky or admonishing.

Tony made a dismissive noise as he grabbed a labcoat and pulled it on. “Okay, one: I am fully capable of going to bed at a reasonable hour. Two: Pepper and Happy are having a baby, but you probably already knew that—it was pretty obvious Carter already knew, and you've currently got a staff of exactly three including yourself, so I'd say it's a fair bet you all knew. Three: I did in fact sleep—I'd say you'd be surprised how exhausting happy committed couples are when they're giving announcements about their upcoming offspring, but obviously I don't need to tell you, because it's clearly the reason _you_ weren't there.” He pointed a finger at Bruce's chest in mock-accusation. Well, maybe half mocking. “And four: if I _had_ stayed up, it would have been in the lab, so I would have already _been_ here at whatever godsforsaken hour you waltzed in all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”

Bruce ducked his head, smiling in his endearing way. “So did I miss anything important?”

Tony shrugged, rubbing one hand over his goatee. “Pepper asking Rhodey for parenting advice, Rogers doing his best impression of a knight out of a fairytale—” He tilted his head to one side thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose that's pretty much an every minute of every day thing for him, but he kissed Barnes' hand in front of everyone, so it's kind of noteworthy anyway.” He tapped one finger against his lower lip. “Um, Pepper refusing to name the baby after me.”

Bruce chuckled, rubbing his fingers through the hair on the back of his head. “Because of course you suggested that.”

“Apparently Happy wanted to name the baby after _Rhodey_ , though.” Tony raised his eyebrows at Bruce in exaggerated affront as he checked the pockets of the lab coat. “Can you believe that?”

Bruce quirked an eyebrow. “What, you mean, 'James'?”

Tony nodded as he walked over to the table Bruce had been sitting at when he came in. “I see you've started without me.”

Bruce just shrugged, expression a very mild sort of apology for something that really needed none, then pointed out, “Rhodey's not exactly the only guy in the galaxy named James.”

“I know, right?” Tony slumped heavily onto a lab stool. “If I ever have a kid—gods forbid that ever happens, but _if_ —there's no way I'd name him James.”

Sliding into the seat next to Tony, Bruce shot him a small, shyly playful grin. “What about 'Bruce'?”

Tony turned a mildly impressed expression on Bruce. “Now there's a thought... 'Bruce Stark'. It does have a nice ring to it.”

o0o

“Hey, Steve?” Shoving his phone into his pocket, Winter smiled at Steve as he looked up from his phone. They'd really probably both spent more time than was healthy bent over the things that morning. And the morning before. The internet was informative, sure, but it would be better to spend more time training—Steve had said something about going to the gym sometime soon.

“Yeah, Buck?” Sliding his own phone into this pocket with one hand, Steve reached out to take Winter's with his other.

“I think...” Winter realized maybe he should have thought this through a bit more before actually bringing it up. He scrubbed his metal fingers through his hair. “I took the pills Doctor Banner gave me last night, and I think they helped.”

Steve squeezed his hand. “If you feel like they're helping, then I'm glad.” His smile melted into a more serious expression, but he didn't say anything else. He was probably thinking, like Winter had himself, that it may have been a fluke. Just one night proved nothing, and he'd had good nights without the drugs.

Winter grimaced. “Does it seem to you like I've been sleeping okay, I mean in general?” He scraped his teeth over his bottom lip, looking away. “I mean, not—not the first night here, but...”

Offering him a soft half-smile, Steve shifted closer on the couch. “I'm not the best person to judge how you're doing, Buck.” He tapped Winter's chest with one finger. “That's you; you're the only one inside your head, inside your body.”

“Okay, but...” Winter let out a breath. “Since we sleep together, I affect you—when I sleep badly.”

Steve shrugged. “That's a two-way street, though; you're not the only one who has nightmares.” He flashed Winter an apologetic smile.

Winter offered Steve a wry half-smile from under his bangs. “Fair enough.” But with Winter's nightmare making him so violent, it really _wasn't_ fair. Couldn't Steve just let Winter try to be _good_? “I just...” He blew out a breath. “I want to get better. To sleep better.”

“It can take a while.” Steve's thumb rubbed across the back of Winter's flesh hand. It was nice...and _distracting_ —it made him want too many things. Steve continued, “And...I mean, I'm really no expert, but...” He pursed his lips. “If I was going to make a...guess—based on the admittedly very limited data...I'd say your nightmares seem to be triggered by transitions—changes in location.” He let out a breath. “Which makes a lot of sense, I suppose. Many people don't sleep very well in unfamiliar places.”

Right. That nightmare Winter had _said_ he'd had the first night aboard the Stark 1. The one he still wasn't sure had even happened, because he didn't remember it...but then, he remembered so little, so what difference did it make? It was a starting place, anyway. The next time he needed to sleep in a new location, he would have to remember to take his pills. Maybe he'd take extra—three or four instead of two. In case they did help. The worst it could do was make him groggy, but that was kind of the idea.

Watching Steve to be sure it was okay, Winter leaned over to rest his head on Steve's shoulder. The fabric of Steve's t-shirt was soft against Winter's cheek.

Steve's voice was warm as he put his arm around Winter to hold him close. “You tired right now, Buck?”

Winter frowned. He didn't feel _sleepy_ , anyway. “Not really.” Shifting, Winter pressed his lips to the soft skin of Steve's neck.

“Oh, I see how it is.” Steve chuckled, ruffling Winter's hair.

Gods, it always felt so good when Steve touched his hair. Pressing his face further into Steve's neck, Winter breathed deeply, enjoying the warm smell of him. Steve always smelled so damned _clean_. Winter wanted to say, 'I'm yours,' to remind them both, but Steve probably wouldn't like that—he'd never wanted reminders of that. So Winter tried, “I love you, Steve,” instead.

He felt Steve's smile as he pressed a kiss to the top of Winter's head. “Love you too, Buck.”

And maybe that could be enough.

o0o

“You'll be relieved to know that no one's brought any communicable diseases back to the Tower,” Bruce commented. “Well, no one I've seen so far anyway, but I didn't have any reason to check you or Rhodey or Happy.” He raised an eyebrow at Tony. “Any reason I should be concerned?”

Nudging him with his elbow, Tony snorted softly. “If you want to hear all about my recent sexual escapades, you only have to _ask_ , Bruce.” Turning to smile mildly at him, he added, “And I'd tell you I haven't, because that's the truth.” He grimaced at bit. “Just something about this whole HYDRA thing has made it a bit harder for me to trust people.” And there was Barnes too; that had been a pretty huge distraction from, well, _everything_ else. Speaking of, “Had time to do that DNA analysis on Barnes?”

Bruce nodded. “And unless JARVIS and myself both missed something important, he's a perfect match for the Barnes we have on record.” He grimaced slightly, tilting his head from side to side. “For the results _after_ his first capture and imprisonment by HYDRA, that is. The serum they gave him affected his DNA similarly to how the gamma radiation affected mine. So he's not an exact match for the James Barnes who was born on New Brooklyn, but he's a match for the one Captain Rogers got back from Zola.”

Okay, so plastic surgery and even lookalike relatives were out, but... He could still be a clone. Or maybe he'd been a clone since the First SHIELD-HYDRA War. Ugh, it made Tony's head hurt. But Barnes was _most likely_ really Barnes. “Pretty sure it was HYDRA who had him again—guess they pumped him full of science and then didn't want to just let him wander free.” Turning to look at Bruce, Tony asked, “Did I tell you about the tracker I found in his arm?”

Bruce nodded. “You mentioned it.”

Tony rubbed a hand over his face. Darn, he had been going to ask Barnes—or, actually, ask Steve if he could ask Barnes... Something like that. But, somehow find out about who Barnes' former owner had been. Assuming Barnes even remembered.

But maybe Barnes knew a bit about who _else_ might be HYDRA. It'd be something, anyway.

o0o

Steve and Bucky arrived a few minutes early for the funeral. Sharon had set things up in one of the smaller rooms Stark Industries sometimes used for business meetings. Blue-draped tables with food and drink lined one wall, and a circle of chairs huddled in the middle of the room—it seemed no one was expected to stand up to talk. With such a small group, that made more sense. One of the tables held a large coffee pot, but Stark's air purifiers leeched the smell from the air before it could reach Steve's nose.

“Steve,” Sharon greeted him, leading a dark-skinned man with a close-cropped beard over. “I'd like you to meet my cousin, Trip—Antoine Triplet.” Peggy and Gabe's grandson, which would make him...some sort of cousin other than a first cousin to Sharon. Technically different generations in their family tree, though they were close to the same age.

Trip had been in SHIELD too, though he and Steve had never crossed paths. But Peggy had mentioned Trip a few times, both proud of him and worried for him.

“It truly is an honour to meet you, sir.” Trip shook Steve's hand firmly with an eager smile. “Truly an honour.” His eyes flickered sideways, widening as they took in Bucky. “Is that—” He turned to look at Sharon then turned back. “Sergeant Barnes?”

“Oh, right,” Sharon said quietly, grimacing slightly. “I guess I forgot to tell you...”

Steve nodded at Trip. “This is indeed Sergeant Barnes.” Turning to Bucky, he pitched his voice lower and explained, “Bucky, Trip is Peggy's grandson.” He had no idea if Bucky knew who Peggy had married, so he added, “Peggy and Gabe's grandson.”

Trip was holding out his hand to Bucky, and Bucky had to let go of Steve's hand to accept the handshake. “It's good to meet you,” he said quietly.

Steve was grateful that Sharon didn't insist on a handshake; Bucky could be overwhelmed pretty fast, but he did better if he could hold onto Steve. As if to prove the point, as soon as Trip released Bucky's hand, he took Steve's again, giving it a grateful squeeze.

Trip gave Sharon a one-armed side-hug. “Don't feel bad about not telling me; you've had a lot on your mind.” He sighed. “We all have.”

“Uncle Steve!” Shannon half-hugged half-tackled Steve from the side. Grinning up at him with her arms still tightly around him, she said, “It's good to see you again.”

Steve smiled warmly down at her. “It's good to see you too, Shannon.” Raising his eyebrows, he added, “Have you grown? You seem taller, and it's only been—a few months?”

Shannon shrugged, flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder as she finally released him and stepped back. “I guess. I'm supposed to be still growing for at least another year. Aunt Sharon says I'll probably end up taller than her.”

Nodding, Steve replied, “I don't doubt it.” Then, tugging Bucky gently forward by the wrist, Steve added, “Shannon, I'd like you to meet—”

But she interrupted him, “Sergeant Barnes—Bucky.” Her grin was broad and excited as she looked between the two of them.

“Shannon,” Sharon admonished.

Turning to look at her aunt, Shannon said, “What?”

“It's kinda rude to interrupt people,” Trip said, shrugging his broad shoulders.

Shannon's shoulders fell. “I know.” Turning back to Steve, she grimaced, biting her lip. “Sorry.”

One side of Steve's lips quirked up. “Do you do that in school, too? Interrupt the teachers before they can finish the question when you know the answer?”

Shannon scrunched her face up a bit, admitting, “Sometimes. But there isn't a school here, so I guess I don't anymore.” She shrugged.

“Did I ever tell you the school on New Brooklyn only went to tenth grade?” Steve asked.

Shannon shook her head. “I don't think you did.”

“After that, we had to do it all by correspondence.” Steve nodded his head towards her. “Like you're doing.”

Shannon wrinkled her nose. “I don't think it's exactly the same, since I don't even have anywhere to send my assignments; Aunt Sharon just checks them—though some things like math I can check myself, 'cause there's an answer key.” She smiled a bit wistfully. “But I miss gym.”

Turning to grin at Bucky, Steve said, “I think Bucky missed gym too.” He shook his head then looked back at Shannon. “I was never any good at gym, myself.”

“Didn't stop you from trying, though,” Bucky said, bumping his shoulder into Steve's.

“No,” Steve admitted, turning to grin at Bucky. “I guess it never did.” He'd wanted so badly to follow in his father's footsteps, to make proud the man who'd died before Steve was born. He turned back to Shannon. “There is a gym here on the Tower—at least one. It's big, and pretty nice.”

“I know.” She folded her arms and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Aunt Sharon and I train together sometimes, or sometimes I'll play there with Michael and Lila.” She sighed. “But it's just not the same.”

Steve nodded sympathetically. Shannon wanted to spend time with kids her own age, and there just weren't any around.

o0o

“Tony,” Pepper said when Tony finally answered his phone on the third ring. “I think you should probably come to the docking bay.”

“Is there a problem?” Tony asked, pushing himself to his feet—at least he was dressed. Not _nicely_ dressed, but dressed. He even had shoes on.

“No, not a problem.” But Pepper sounded a little tense. And also like she was walking—no doubt on the way to the docking bay herself. “The Sleipnir's just arrived.”

Tony's eyes bugged out of his face. “ _Odin's_ ship?” There was no way he was dressed for this. No way in all the hells.

And weren't kings of actual planets supposed to call ahead rather than just dropping by? It didn't seem very...dignified.

“Thor appears to be in command,” Pepper clarified. “He's the one who requested permission to dock, and he didn't say he was speaking on behalf of his father.”

Tony scrubbed his fingers through his hair. It could use washing; he probably should have showered that morning. “Okay, so Thor then?” He could deal with Thor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on characters and canon:  
> 'Sleipnir' is the name of Odin's eight-legged horse.  
> 'Bruce Stark' is one of the proposed names of the child Robert Downey Jr. and Mark Ruffalo claim they will be adopting together (the other proposed name being 'Tony Banner').


	18. Whatever You Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thor brings friends, Tony wants to try an Asgardian specialty, and JARVIS has opinions on the pacing of Steve and Bucky's relationship thus far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on pairings:  
> Thor and Jane are together in this fic. It's not a huge part of the plot, but it's referenced (starting in this chapter). Here's your warning if it's your notp and you need to bail or something.  
> Also, Clint/Natasha is going to be coming into play eventually—and significantly (comparable to the Happy/Pepper stuff). So, heads up on that too.

“I guess we're all here now,” Trip said, “so we might as well get started.”

Steve gave Sharon a questioning look. There were still only five of them: Sharon, Shannon, Trip, Steve, and Bucky.“Tony's not coming?”

Sharon shook her head. “Said he didn't want to intrude.”

Sitting, they made a small circle—or more like five points of a star were someone to draw lines connecting them all. Shannon sat on one side of Sharon and Trip sat on the other, and Steve and Bucky made the other two points, with Steve sitting next to Shannon and Bucky sitting next to Trip.

“This is—obviously—going to be pretty informal,” Sharon began. “Just...a time where we can all share our thoughts and memories of Peggy.” She swallowed, rearranging her hands in her lap. “I know no one ever wants to go first, so I'll just do it.” She laughed a little, tears brightening her eyes. “I—I don't even know where to start, and if I tried to say it all, it would take weeks, so I guess I'll try to keep to the most important things.”

Sharon cleared her throat and shifted slightly in her seat. “As far back as I can remember, Aunt Peggy was an inspiration to me. I wanted to be just like her, and I remember being angry that my hair was the wrong colour.” She laughed again, warmth mingling with the sadness in her eyes. “I wanted her to teach me how to fight, and she would show me some moves and help me practice, but she encouraged me to take classes too. She was always so proud of me when I earned a new belt. Well.” She ducked her head for a moment. “She was always proud of me. She told me once that if I wanted to tap-dance or play hockey or code cellphone games or design silly, impractical shoes—she'd be proud of me no matter what. And she _was_ —she always made sure I knew she was.” She blinked as tears slid down her cheeks. “I think she was prouder of me when I received my nurses' certification than she was when I joined SHIELD.” She ducked her head, shaking it.

Shannon took her hand. When Sharon didn't continue, Shannon cleared her throat, looking around the circle a bit nervously. “Great-Aunt Peggy used to tell me stories. I always liked the ones about the First SHIELD-HYDRA War best. She—she never tried to downplay her role—sometimes, she'd even grin and say, 'I did that.'” Her shoulders moved in a small shrug. “I always liked that. She was just being honest.” She dropped her gaze and her voice grew softer. “Things were different, near the—more recently. With—with everything falling apart, I know she wished she could have done something. She felt so helpless there.” She bit her lip, grimacing. “I kinda felt the same way, I guess. But she would tell me to be careful, to stay safe, to listen to Aunt Sharon.” She took a shaky breath. “She said maybe we're always too young for war, but—but kids don't fight until there's no adults left.” She rubbed under her eyes with the white material of her sleeve. Her voice was rough when she spoke again. “I guess that's all I had to say.”

If they were going around the circle, it was Steve's turn—the order probably didn't matter, but Steve cleared his throat and began, “I only knew Peggy for a few short years. I suppose that's not much—” He looked from Trip to Sharon to Shannon. “Compared to most of you. But she—” He ducked his head, swallowing. “She saw in me something I couldn't see in myself—I mean, it took her a while.” He laughed, smile self-deprecating as he brushed his hair off his forehead. “I had a bit of a knack for making an ass of myself when I tried to talk to her. But she was patient with me.” He leaned forward to rest his folded arms on his knees. “Much more than I deserved. I—” He glanced up, eyes flickering from face to face. “I think I fell in love with her the first time I saw her punch someone in the face.” He laughed again, but it was rough and damp. “She was my first kiss—”

And then he couldn't even talk anymore, and it was stupid, because he hadn't really explained why Peggy was so important. But maybe they already knew. Maybe he was the one who didn't properly understand. It was still a harsh reminder that even supersoldier serum couldn't always stop his body from betraying him.

Bucky took his hand and squeezed it, and all Steve could do was hold on as though his life depended on that grip.

“I didn't know Peggy very well,” Bucky began—that was a surprise; Steve hadn't expected him to say anything. “Steve knew her longer, and, obviously, better.” He chuckled softly. “I think I tried to flirt with her once, and she shot me down so thoroughly that I never tried again—but you know, I always figured if she was good enough for Steve, she must have been something pretty special. And—” He shifted slightly, the chair creaking a bit as he did. “She was part of the rescue operation during that war that got me back from HYDRA—just her and Howard Stark and Steve—when SHIELD had officially decided I was dead, so I'm pretty thankful for that: she literally saved my life.” Bucky turned to look at Trip.

“My grandma Peggy...” Trip blew out a breath through his lips, leaning back in his chair. “She was... _amazing_. I guess what always inspired me the most about her was that she lost so much, but she just—she didn't let that stop her.” He shook his head. “She was such a _strong_ person. Resilient. Life kicked her down, and she stood back up and said, 'Is that the best you got?'” Turning toward Sharon, he smiled—warm and soft and sad. “I wanted to be her too. I still do.”

o0o

When Tony arrived in the docking bay, Pepper was smiling up at Thor as he loomed over her—Thor basically loomed over everyone, even when he wasn't _that_ much taller. Tony had thrown on a clean shirt; a visit from the Asgardian prince had warranted that, at least. And a bit of water splashed on his face.

It was an Asgardian thing, the looming. Odin did it too, of course, and was a heck of a lot more terrifying while doing it. And Heimdall, obviously. How no one had guessed the slight, slender Loki who slipped so easily into his brother's shadow wasn't truly Asgardian kind of eluded Tony, but maybe Tony's own admittedly limited exposure to Asgardians had given him a rather narrow view of what was actually their normal. But, no wonder Loki had favoured that ridiculous horned helmet when he was going all take-over-the-galaxy on, well, the galaxy.

“Thor,” Tony said, approaching and slapping his muscular bicep. “Good to see you, buddy.”

Thor greeted him with a hug so enthusiastic it felt as though it could crack one or more of Tony's bones.

“Ugh,” Tony grumbled. Not that Tony was in any way averse to being lifted off his feet by massive men with gorgeous hair, but still. “Careful with the delicate human anatomy.”

“I apologize.” Thor released him, ducking his head. His stupid smile was both clearly happy and a little bashful. “I am most glad to see you safe.”

Tony nodded. “Same—from what I hear, you've had your own share of problems in the land of rainbow roads and fairytale castles.”

“Aye.” Thor's expression was serious. “But we shall not discuss them here.” Turning to grin as more people exited the ship, Thor added, “I have brought friends.” He gestured expansively to Jane Foster, Erik Selvig, and Darcy Lewis. “Perhaps we should have a feast to celebrate happy reunions.”

“A feast, right.” Tony nodded. A good idea, though maybe it would be better timing to wait for Barton, Romanoff, and Wilson to all get back. “Too bad you all weren't here last night; we just had a bit of a celebratory dinner.”

“Indeed?” Thor raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Tony answered the obvious request for more information. “Pepper and Happy are gonna be parents.”

So then everyone was showering Pepper with congratulations—Foster and Lewis giving her hugs, just to prove Tony's point about women and hugging—and Tony realized she probably needed to be organizing where everyone was going to stay, but her smile wasn't strained, so he didn't feel bad. Thor had quarters set aside already, and no doubt Foster would just be staying there. JARVIS could handle the others if Pepper didn't.

Tony moved to stand next to Selvig. “How long will you be staying?”

“Well, I don't know about Thor,” Selvig replied, “but Jane and Darcy and myself—we'd been hoping...permanently. I mean, if that's okay.”

“It's absolutely okay.” Tony grinned. “You're going to _love_ the labs here.” He nodded to where Foster stood close to Pepper, talking animatedly and radiating excitement. “You and Foster both.”

o0o

Winter still held Steve's hand, because Steve hadn't pulled away, so he must still need it. The chairs were a bit of an annoyance, because it would have been nice to be able to sit closer to Steve, to put his arm around him, let him lean on Winter for a while.

Sharon was saying something about how they didn't have to stop there, if anyone had anything else they wanted to say—anything they'd remembered—that would be fine. And reminding everyone of the refreshments.

Winter certainly didn't have anything else to share, and hoped no one suspected he'd learned everything he had shared from the internet. It didn't make it any less _true_ that he was thankful for her rescue. And anyone who was good enough for Steve had to be damn near _divine_. He'd seen the pics online—and some of Steve's sketches of her—he knew she was almost inhumanly gorgeous. But it was more than that, obviously. All the historical accounts told the same story: she was good and brave and strong. Had things turned out like Steve wanted, she would have been good for Steve.

Leaning closer to Steve and rubbing his thumb against the back of Steve's hand, Winter asked, “Do you want something to drink?”

Looking up and blinking a couple of times, Steve said, “Oh. Yeah, sure.”

Before Steve could move to do it himself, Winter said, “I'll get you something,” and stood up, finally releasing Steve's hand and patting him on the shoulder.

o0o

“So, level with me.” Tony had pulled Thor into his personal office once everyone was neatly sorted into quarters—as expected, Foster was in Thor's quarters, and apparently that was going to be permanent even if Thor wasn't around. Darcy ended up next door and Selvig across the hall. It was a good thing Avenger Tower had a lot of room.

Thor raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“Not saying I mind at all, because I don't,” Tony assured him. “But what's the deal with this mass-relocation of every human on Asgard?”

Thor nodded, expression comprehending. “Things on Asgard have been...unsettled, of late.” He frowned, folding his arms and leaning against the wall. “We had need of a safe haven.”

Tony's lips quirked into a crooked half-smile. “Well, I'm honoured you came to me.”

Thor nodded thoughtfully. “It is difficult to find allies worthy of trust.”

Tony sighed, leaning against the wall next to Thor. “That it is.” And it must say something about him—or at least his previous interactions with Thor—that Tony met whatever criteria Thor had for a trustworthy ally. “Hey.” Tony turned towards Thor again. “You ever tried the human drink called a 'banana daiquiri'?”

Thor's brow furrowed for a moment. “I do not believe so.”

“Perfect.” Tony slapped his bicep again. “I'll make you one.”

o0o

When Winter returned with glasses of punch for him and Steve, Steve was passing around some pictures he'd drawn of Peggy. Two were of her face, one in just pencil and one in colour, and one was of her in uniform, head bent over a desk—he must have sketched her while she worked.

“Thanks,” Steve said, accepting the glass of punch with a soft smile.

Winter sat back down beside him.

It didn't take long for such a small group to admire the pictures, and then Sharon and Trip started pulling up holos on their phones—holos of Peggy, mostly Peggy with her family. Weddings, birthdays, graduations, anniversaries. Her holding a newborn at her breast while Gabe grinned proudly at her side. Her holding Sharon as a baby. And Trip. And Shannon. And several other babies and children whose names Winter didn't recognize, but who were all related to her in one way or another.

Steve, trying to smile, just looked progressively sadder.

Winter wasn't sure how to help him. This was the family Steve had wanted—the children and grandchildren he would never have. Could never have. Not unless he found someone else—someone other than Winter. Because of course same sex-couples could adopt, but no one was about to authorize _Winter_ adopting a goldfish much less a child. Steve was durable and healed fast. Children weren't.

Winter forced those thoughts away. Steve needed him. Allowing himself to wallow in worry wouldn't be helpful—there would be time later to think about it.

o0o

“So,” Tony prompted, gesturing expectantly to Thor. “How's the drink?”

“It is fine.” Thor offered him a friendly smile. “These blended fruits have a pleasant flavour.”

“Yeah, but...” Tony leaned forward in his seat. “You only said 'fine'; what's holding it back from being great?”

Thor shrugged, tilting his glass in his hand and watching the yellowish slush move. “Your human alcohol is so...mild.”

Tony felt a slow smirk spread across his face. “About how much stronger would you say Asgardian alcohol is by comparison?”

Pursing his lips thoughtfully, Thor considered for a bit. “At least five times as strong?”

Tony rested his forearms on his knees, angling his body towards Thor and trying not to grin _too_ slyly. “So, how would someone like me go about acquiring a supply of Asgardian alcohol?”

o0o

When Steve was ready for bed that evening, he found Bucky sitting on the edge of the bed, forearms resting on his knees, staring at the floor. Without even glancing up at Steve, he just said, without any sort of preamble, “I can't be your boyfriend.”

“What?” Steve just stood there, staring at him in confusion.

Raising his head, Bucky met his eyes. “You need someone—you need a _family_. I can't do that.”

Steve's brow furrowed as he took a step further into the room. Where had any of this even come from? “If we wanted kids, we could—”

Bucky surged to his feet, shaking his head and making a frustrated—disgusted?—sound. “You know you wouldn't trust me around a child, so don't even _try_ to sell that lie.” His posture radiated tension and he kept his head turned away, hair obscuring his face.

Steve hadn't even considered the prospect of children with Bucky. He frowned, trying to understand what was even going on—why was Bucky trying to break up with him before they'd even properly started dating? “Why do you think I want kids?”

Bucky tilted his head down. He sounded defeated when he said, “Because you do, Steve—you wanted a family with Peggy, and you couldn't have that, but—” His voice caught, rough. “You could have that with _someone else_.”

Wait, was this about the funeral? “Bucky,” Steve tried, taking a step towards him, “ _Peggy_ wanted kids. It never mattered to me either way.”

Clenching his jaw, Bucky shook his head. “Dammit, Steve, you're allowed to _want_ things.”

“I do.” Catching Bucky by the biceps, Steve tried to catch his gaze. “I want _you_ , Bucky.” His voice roughened as he was hit—like a fist in the gut—with the powerful _truth_ of those words. “Oh, God, Bucky. I do; I want you. Please don't push me away.” He realized he was shaking as his hands grasped at Bucky too roughly and his breath hitched in his chest. He'd never wanted to kiss Bucky so badly.

Finally, Bucky raised his head and met Steve's eyes. There was a hesitant, disbelieving question there.

Kissing him seemed like the logical way to answer it—or maybe Steve just couldn't think of another way, since kissing Bucky was all he could think about. He kissed him so roughly, they toppled back onto the bed together, but Bucky didn't seem to mind. He just looked up at Steve in awe and wonder when Steve finally broke the kiss to look down at him. “Will you be my boyfriend, Bucky?” Steve asked, and maybe it was kind of a dumb thing to say—or at least a dumb way to say it—but Steve's brain wouldn't _work_ , and he needed to say _something_. “Please?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, a little breathless. “If that's what you—”

“It's what I want.” Steve was so damn _sure_ of that. “You're the one I want, the _only_ one I want.”

“Okay.” Bucky's eyes were wide, but he looked happy. And relieved. And probably a few other things, but it was all beautiful. “I guess we're 'official' now then?” His brow furrowed thoughtfully. “Should we—remember the date or something?”

That _was_ something couples did, as far as Steve knew. “Yeah, I guess we should.” Laughing a bit, and blushing, he rested his forehead against Bucky's shoulder and said, “JARVIS, make a note of the date for us?”

“Note for 'Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes finally officially a couple' made for this date, sir.” He added the tiniest bit of emphasis to the word 'finally'—apparently the snarky AI had opinions on the pacing of their relationship thus far. “Would you like the time noted as well?”

“Sure.” Steve laughed, still hiding his face against Bucky's solid warmth. “Might as well.”

“Very good, sir.” After a brief pause, the AI added, “And congratulations.”

“Thanks, JARVIS,” Steve said, still laughing, face still too warm. The AI didn't respond, so he must have taken that as a dismissal.

Placing his hands against the bed on either side of Bucky's shoulders, Steve pushed himself up so he could look down at him. “You're beautiful,” he said, because it was true. “And stupid.” Because that was also true. “You just—you've been in love with me for most of a _century_ , and you just tried to hero your way out—tried to give me up... God, Bucky.” He shook his head, disbelieving. “I—” His voice broke as he was suddenly hit with how close he'd come to losing Bucky—again. It was different, obviously, but—the thought still felt like a tearing pain in his heart. He shoved down on Bucky's shoulders, growling, “Don't ever do that to me again,” and leaned down to capture Bucky's mouth once more. It felt as though he was being too rough—how much he was using his teeth, because wasn't kissing meant to be done mostly with the lips?—but his body was moving without his brain's guidance, and the way Bucky kissed back certainly didn't feel like an objection.

Nor did the way Bucky was pulling Steve down against him. Or the sounds—the groans and gasps and moans—he was making. From the way his body shifted beneath Steve, and— _Oh_. Bucky was hard. _Steve_ was hard. This was... They were...

“Steve?” Bucky laughed softly, breathlessly. “You okay?”

Steve realized he'd gone completely still. “Sorry.” His voice was stupidly rough. “I just—I've never—”

“You've never done this before.” There wasn't any judgement or mockery in Bucky's voice, and his hands were stroking through Steve's hair in a way that felt _fantastic_.

“I don't really,” Steve admitted, a little shaky, “know what to do.” He probably should have looked it up. That's what the internet was _for_ , after all: looking stuff up. Or, hell, asked Bruce—that would have been awkward as anything ever had been, but at least he'd have some idea of what was possible and what was reasonably safe. At least the results of their recent blood tests assured he and Bucky were in no danger of infecting each other with anything.

“I could do some things for you first,” Bucky offered.

And that might really help, actually. Sort of show Steve how... “Okay.” Steve offered Bucky a relieved smile. “Um, so...” He shifted slightly—he kind of had Bucky pinned down to the bed. And, apparently he was still very hard. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, sucking in a breath. “I guess I should...”

“Here.” Bucky's hands on his arms were warm and sure. “Let's get your shirt off.”

“Right.” Rolling off so he was sitting on the bed next to Bucky, Steve smiled shyly at him. He was about to pull the t-shirt over his head, but Bucky's hands found the hem before his own did.

Steve had to suck in another sharp breath as Bucky's knuckles—the metal ones as well as the flesh—grazed his abdomen. “God, Bucky.” He had honestly never been so turned on in his life, but he'd also never really been turned on and touching another person at the same time before.

Tossing Steve's shirt aside, Bucky quirked an eyebrow as his flesh hand rested casually against the waistband of Steve's sweatpants. “These too?”

“What about _your_ shirt?” Steve countered. It wasn't like he hadn't seen Bucky shirtless before, but he just _wanted_ to right then.

Something about the way Bucky moved—and smirked—while pulling off his own shirt had Steve's heart beating faster and his breath hitching. Placing his flesh hand—gloriously warm, and Steve couldn't help leaning into the touch—against Steve's chest, Bucky asked, “Not gonna have a heart attack, are you?”

“Supersoldier serum,” Steve shot back, radiating challenge. “I can take whatever you can dish out.”

But then Bucky's hand was sliding under the waistband of Steve's pants, and Steve wasn't entirely sure he wasn't going to have a heart attack after all—was it supposed to feel _that_ much better when it was someone else's hand? Bucky was chuckling, the sound deep and warm. “I haven't even gotten started, punk. What do you want me to do for you, anyway?”

Right. There were _options_. Not that Steve could remember what any of them were, assuming he'd ever known. He shook his head. “I don't care. Anything. Whatever you want, Bucky.”

Bucky flicked Steve's nipple with his metal finger, and it kind of hurt.

“Ow.” Steve frowned up at Bucky in confusion—and when had he laid back on the pillows? Not that he was complaining; he probably couldn't have stayed upright much longer anyway. But... “What was _that_ for?”

Shrugging unrepentantly, Bucky twisted his lips into a smirk. “You did say, 'anything', Steve.”

“Okay...” Steve grimaced apologetically. Apparently Bucky wanted him to be more specific. “Maybe not that?” He chuckled softly.

Bucky grinned down at him. “I'll keep that in mind.” Using both hands, he slid Steve's sweatpants down off his hips—and once again, the sensation of Bucky's hands on his skin had Steve's eyes squeezed shut as he sucked in a desperate breath.

Bucky tossed the pants aside, and Steve suddenly realized he was completely naked in front of his best friend—his boyfriend. He didn't have a desire to hide or cover himself, but he did feel himself blushing until the skin of his face felt so tight it _pinched_.

“So...” Bucky said, expression considering as he tilted his head to one side. “I could just use my hand—not too different from—”

“From what I do myself,” Steve finished for him. “But it is different, Bucky—it feels so much better when you do it.”

Bucky shook his head, looking pleased but also a little exasperated. “I haven't done it yet, Steve.”

Fine, but whatever Bucky _had_ done had felt _amazing_. Steve suddenly needed to kiss Bucky again, so he tugged him down and brought their mouths together. “I love you,” he whispered, twisting his fingers in Bucky's hair. Bucky still had his own sweatpants on, and that was a strange sensation against Steve's bare skin. Steve slid his fingers under Bucky's waistband, enjoying the smooth feel of the skin he found.

“Steve.” Bucky shuddered, pressing his forehead to Steve's shoulder. “Anything—anything you want, Steve.”

And that sounded...familiar. Because Steve had just said basically the same thing himself. “Bucky.” He ran his hands smoothly up and down Bucky's back. “What do _you_ want?” If Steve had to answer that question, it was only fair that Bucky answer it as well.

But Bucky went tense in his arms, breath coming in quiet, uneven gasps.

Worried, Steve pushed himself up to lean against the headboard, catching Bucky under the chin to try to get a look at his face—but Bucky was avoiding his gaze. “Buck?” Steve tried.

And then Bucky kissed him, metal hand against his jaw and flesh hand moving to grasp him and stroke him—and technically that could be considered an answer, but...

“Bucky, wait.” Steve was starting to get the sick feeling that he'd done something wrong—was doing something wrong. He caught Bucky's flesh wrist, stopping him. Making an unhappy noise, Bucky tried to twist his wrist free, but Steve held it steady. “If we're going to do this, I need you to tell me what you want.”

Bucky's eyes met his, wide and _scared_ , and there was no part of this that felt right anymore.

Sighing, Steve shifted, trying to disentangle himself from Bucky. “We don't—there's no rush, Bucky. We can just...”

Bucky was glaring down at his lap, a muscle working in his jaw. Suddenly, he said, “I want you to fuck me.” His eyes met Steve's again, filled with challenge.

Letting out a breath, Steve leaned against the headboard again. “Okay...” He was _pretty_ sure he knew what that meant—at least usually? He was also pretty sure he _couldn't_. It was _complicated_ , and— “Maybe we could work our way up to that?”

“Yeah, that's—” Ducking his head, Bucky peeked at Steve through his bangs. “Sorry.”

Sighing, Steve pulled Bucky back against his chest, wrapping his arms around him. “Don't be sorry for wanting things, Buck.”

Bucky's body shook a little as he pressed closer to Steve, admitting, “I always want too many things.”

Tilting Bucky's head a bit, Steve pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “So it's hard to pick just one?”

“Yeah.” Bucky smiled, relief evident in the lines of his face and the loose weight of his body against Steve. After a moment he said, “Can I—I want to—to use my mouth on you.” He met Steve's gaze and there was a hint of pleading in his eyes as he said again, “I want to.”

How could Steve ever say no to that? So, a little shakily, Steve nodded. “Yeah.”

And then Bucky was sliding down on the bed, flesh and metal hands ghosting down Steve's chest to rest heavily against his hipbones, and then Bucky was flashing him the most cheeky smile before dipping his head and—

Steve swore. He wasn't even sure what he said. Mostly just Bucky's name, over and over. It was hot, and it was wet, and Bucky's _tongue_ — Steve's hands were twisting desperately in the bedspread. He couldn't keep his eyes open, but he couldn't _close_ them either, because he needed to see Bucky, even though the sight of Bucky doing _that_ was like falling into the heart of a star. “Wait,” Steve said, suddenly, urgently worried. He'd been biting the back of his hand and blinked at it in confusion before his eyes found Bucky again. “Bucky—what about when I—”

Pulling off, Bucky blinked lazily at him as he ran his tongue along his bottom lip. “Don't worry about it, Steve; it's fine.” He grinned. His hands were warm on Steve's hips—the metal one soaking up the heat from Steve's body. “I'll swallow.”

Steve's eyes widened. Because that sounded really, _really_ gross. Why would anyone...?

But then Bucky said, “I want to,” looking at Steve under heavy eyelids.

And...well, who was Steve to judge? Bucky liked the taste of _rum_ , after all. Letting out a breath, Steve allowed himself relax against the pillows again. “Okay.”

Bucky's mouth was on him again, and Steve was just _lost_. Bucky was above him and around him, and everything was just so _much_. This time he didn't fight; it was okay—Bucky _wanted_ this. It was a little terrifying, actually, but Bucky was going to take care of him—Bucky always— Steve's body tightened, and Bucky's metal hand was heavy on his hip as Steve's whole body jerked— And everything was beautiful and warm and _Bucky_ as a hundred new stars were born behind Steve's eyes.

“Bucky.” Steve's voice was quiet—a little rough and a little sluggish—as he reached for Bucky. He just needed to hold him. It was a little like trying to move in a dream: everything was slow and kind of disconnected. But Bucky was there, warm and real, against Steve's side, nuzzling at Steve's bare shoulder as Steve wrapped one stupidly unresponsive arm around him. “...love you.”

Bucky's lips teased over-sensitive nerve endings as they brushed against Steve's skin. And Bucky was saying something, and it was probably important, but Steve just needed to close his eyes for a bit. Bucky wouldn't mind if he...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I feel like I probably should have used the 'Mildly Dubious Consent' tag rather than the 'Dubious Consent' one, but it feels like too much of a bother to change it now.)


	19. Whatever You Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thor's leather armour is pretty badass, Tony wakes up more confused than usual, and Steve and Bucky continue to have sex (there is seriously going to be so much more sex in this fic).

“ _Holy_ ,” Tony said, placing the flat of his palm against Thor's armoured abs to keep his balance.

Catching Tony by the biceps, Thor looked concerned. And a little blurry. Forget beer-goggles, though, Thor was a hell of a lot better looking when Tony could actually _see_ him. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah.” Tony shook his head. Wow. “I mean, I _think_ so. Or, uh, I better be—'cause if I'm not, Bruce's gonna be _such_ a pain in the ass about this.”

Thor made a quiet sound of frustration. “You assured me Asgardian alcohol would have no ill effects.”

Chuckling softly, Tony settled for just leaning against Thor. Big, blond, and beautiful didn't seem to mind, anyway. And it wasn't like he didn't have plenty of extra muscle to support the weight of one average-sized very drunk human. “Nothing about these effects feels 'ill', buddy. And I've been this drunk before.” Pretty sure. Though never so drunk so _fast_ , and that would be the...well, it wasn't exactly a 'problem'. Tony was about to ask JARVIS to confirm his status as being not about to keel over from alcohol poisoning when he remembered he was currently aboard the Sleipnir, so JARVIS wouldn't hear him if he just talked aloud. He could contact him on his phone of course, but that seemed like far too much work.

Thor picked Tony up and there was a disorienting moment of motion and then Tony was slumped on some sort of couch. And why had he been standing to drink the stuff—Thor had called it, um, some sort of 'ale'?—anyway? That showed an astonishing lack of foresight, but then Tony was never really one for foresight. Thor sat nearby, all vague largeness and unfocused golden light.

“You're prettier when I can see you.” Wait, had Tony said that out loud?

Thor was laughing, so he probably had.

At least it didn't seem like Tony would need to apologize—this time—for getting hopelessly drunk and flirting with royalty. His eyelids were slow and weighed-down...like trying to run in a dream.

“Who's T'Challa?” Thor was frowning in confusion.

Tony waved a sluggish hand at him. “Ignore _everything_ I say.” Because apparently words were just bypassing his brain entirely. He wondered distantly what he'd said about T'Challa, but it probably wasn't important. “Well.” Tony tried to push himself more upright to look more directly at Thor. “Except for this: can you get more of that stuff? Enough for, say, two average Asgardians to enjoy an evening of Asgardian revelry. By about...five days from now?” When Thor continued to frown in confusion, Tony explained, “It's for the feast we talked about.”

And Thor nodded, understanding, because of course Thor would understand all about feasts. “It should not be too much trouble.” Thor cocked his head to one side. “Should I consult with your healer before...?”

Tony flopped one hand in a vague approximation of a wave. “'S not for baseline humans.” Relaxing, he let himself lean against Thor again—Thor was gloriously warm and neither pulled away nor pushed Tony away. Tony was gloriously warm, especially his face. Maybe his face was a bit _too_ warm. “Rogers can't get drunk—not off human stuff, anyway.”

“That is unfortunate for our friend, Rogers.” Thor's voice was a low rumble that Tony felt probably as much as he heard. The leather of Thor's armour smelled nice. Sort of...spicy and...leather-y. It didn't matter that leather armour was silly, really. It was just pretty badass.

“Yeah, 's real sad,” Tony agreed. “Not sure about Barnes...”

“Barnes?”

“Rogers' boyfriend.” Right...Thor hadn't met him yet. They should get on great, though—bond over haircare or something. “...has this awesome arm.” Tony's eyelids were uncooperative, but maybe he didn't need to open them for a while. “Should take them to Asgard sometime...”

Thor made a hum of agreement. “Maybe once things are more stable.”

Tony wasn't sure when that might happen, but it sounded nice. Or maybe Thor's voice just sounded nice. And Thor felt nice too. Which was good, because Tony couldn't open his eyes anymore to see him.

o0o

Steve blinked awake, unsure what time it was, but Bucky was curled at his side, and... Steve jerked fully awake, jostling Bucky, who groaned unhappily, rubbing at his face with his flesh hand and blinking at him. “God, sorry, Bucky—I didn't—I didn't mean—” Steve bit his lip hard. That hadn't been fair _at all_. That had been terribly _selfish_. “What time is it? How long was I asleep?”

Rolling his shoulders, Bucky smiled unconcernedly, flesh fingers stroking soothingly over Steve's chest. Glancing up at the ceiling, Bucky asked, “JARVIS, what time is it?”

“It is eleven twenty-four pm, sir,” JARVIS replied. “And if I may, Captain Rogers has been asleep for approximately twenty minutes.”

Steve allowed himself to relax a bit. That wasn't so bad—was it? Better than sleeping the whole night, anyway. It was still a little...odd to think that JARVIS knew how long he'd been asleep, though. Especially considering what he'd been doing right before... Steve made a frustrated noise, pressing his hand against his eyes. Because Steve was naked, but Bucky was still wearing his sweatpants—Steve really _was_ terrible at sex. And he _knew_ he was pretty clueless, but even he knew you weren't supposed to just...leave the other person...like that. “I'm sorry, Buck.” Guilt tightened in his chest, as though his ribs were constricting cruelly.

But Bucky put his flesh fingers over Steve's mouth, stopping his words. “Don't be sorry. You fell asleep.” He smirked, quirking his eyebrows. “I guess I tired you out. It's _fine_.”

Steve wanted to protest, but Bucky's hand was still over his mouth. Just resting there, really, and not actually preventing him from speaking, but... Suddenly Steve had an idea, and before he could overthink it, he opened his mouth a bit and flicked his tongue out, tasting the warm saltiness of Bucky's skin.

And it must have been a good thing to do, because Bucky grinned down at him, all pleased affection and warm amusement. His voice was a low rumble when he said, “Look who's a fast learner.”

Steve blushed so hard it might actually have been uncomfortably hot for Bucky to be touching his face. Steve hadn't _learned_ anything, really. Hadn't even been aware of what Bucky was doing most of the time—just that it felt impossibly good.

But Bucky was chuckling and rubbing his thumb over Steve's lower lip. “It seemed like you enjoyed yourself.”

“Oh, yeah.” Steve swallowed. “Bucky.” Grasping Bucky's wrist and pressing his cheek against his palm, Steve closed his eyes for a moment. “It was wonderful, Bucky. You were wonderful. I had no idea—” Pressing his lips together, he shook his head a bit, stubble rasping against the slightly rough skin of Bucky's hand. “It's just—” Steve made a soft, frustrated sound in his throat. He'd never done anything like that, didn't have the first idea how to make it _good_. “I want to do that for you too, but I don't—”

“It's fine,” Bucky assured him, leaning down to kiss him gently.

But of course it _wasn't_ fine; sex wasn't supposed to be one-sided. Steve pushed himself up to sit against the headboard. “I want to try, Bucky. I know I won't be very good, but—you can tell me if I'm doing it wrong, tell me what to do, tell me what you like.” He _could_ just use his hand. It had felt amazingly good when Bucky had just touched him, but... That didn't seem really fair, not when Bucky had—

Bucky was blinking at him, expression unsure and something wavering and uncertain in his eyes.

“Buck?” Steve's heart thumped ominously in his chest. “What's wrong?” Steve's hand found Bucky's flesh one again, giving it a squeeze. Had he done something to screw this up even _worse_?

Ducking his head, Bucky shook it, then met Steve's eyes again, offering him a soft smile. “I'm fine.” He squeezed Steve's hand back. “I'm sure it will feel great; it's kind of hard to mess up, really.”

Steve's brows twisted as his eyes narrowed slightly, trying to figure Bucky out. He _owed_ Bucky, but if Bucky wasn't comfortable with this... “Buck...I don't want to do anything you don't want—you know that, right?”

But Bucky laughed, letting go of Steve's hand and moving to flop down next to him on his back, head and shoulders on the pillows. “Of course I want it, Steve; I've wanted this for most of a century, remember?”

Ducking his head, Steve smiled shyly. “Yeah. I remember.” Steve took a breath, frowning thoughtfully. “But, what I mean is, you don't have to—if you're not comfortable with something right _now_ —”

Bucky's smile faded to blankness and his gaze slid away. “It's fine if you don't want to, Steve. I didn't do it because I expected some sort of payback.”

“Dammit, Bucky.” Steve groaned, wanting to tear his hair out. His hands curled into fists at his sides. It seemed every single thing he did somehow just made things _worse_. “Of course I want to do it—and not _just_ as payback.” But people _were_ supposed to be fair about these things, right? He reached out and laid his hand tentatively on Bucky's knee—he could feel Bucky's warmth through the soft material. “I want to do this for you, because I love you, and I want—I want you to feel... _that_. It just—it doesn't have to be _now_ —but it _can_ be, if you want it.” He should have done it before, shouldn't have fallen asleep. But he'd waited too long and now things were all awkward.

Bucky pressed his hands—both flesh and metal—over his face briefly, then let them fall to either side of him on the bed, looking at Steve with a sort of helpless expression and saying, “Sorry.” He offered Steve an apologetic smile. “I'm sort of new to this too, okay?” He gestured between the two of them with his metal hand. “I mean, not the sex, but—the _relationship_.”

Right...it hadn't been too long before that Bucky had said he wanted to be Steve's boyfriend but didn't know how to be. Well, Steve had only ever been Peggy's boyfriend, and so briefly—he wasn't really at that much of an advantage when it came to relationship experience. Maybe they should ask Pepper and Happy for advice; they were married, so they must know something of how these things should work. Or, Natasha and Clint—they'd been together for, um, a while anyway, and they seemed happy. Or at least, comfortable with each other. In a way Bucky and Steve really _weren't_. “It's okay, Bucky.” Steve took Bucky's metal hand—since it was closer—and kissed the back of it. “We'll work it out together, okay?”

Bucky offered him a small, hopeful smile. “Okay.”

Curling up against Bucky's side, Steve hugged his chest, resting his head over Bucky's heart. Bucky smelled like sweat and warmth and metal—it was beautiful and sharp and _Bucky_. “I'm sorry,” he said, because he felt like he had to. “I feel like I'm always just screwing this up.” Bucky deserved better.

Bucky ran his metal fingers slowly through Steve's short hair. Steve wasn't looking at his face, but he heard the smile in Bucky's voice when he said, “We'll work it out together, like you said.”

It was a relief. Hope stirred, warm and bright, in Steve's chest. He hadn't learned how to draw in one day either, though he had managed to impress everyone with his skill from such a young age that sometimes it kind of felt like he had. And things like shooting and hand to hand combat were made so much easier by the serum. To bad the serum hadn't given him some inherent skill at sex, but Bucky could help him figure it out. Tilting his head so he could see Bucky's face, Steve asked, “Can I—?” He slid his hand down Bucky's bare chest until he reached the waistband of his sweatpants.

Bucky grinned. “Yeah.” Then, as Steve was sliding Bucky's sweatpants off, Bucky said, “You still want me to sort of walk you through it?”

“Well, yeah.” Steve brushed his fingers over Bucky's pale thighs. He kind of wanted to _draw_ Bucky—nude again, but maybe lying on his back... But that's not what he was supposed to be doing; there'd be time for that later. “I'm going to need a bit of feedback: 'That feels good,' 'That doesn't feel good,' um, 'It might feel better if you—'” He looked up at Bucky, offering him a lopsided smile in apology and a shrug. “Uh, whatever you'd tell me to do there to, uh, fill in the blank.” Maybe Bucky could give him some instructions on what to do with his tongue. Steve blushed at the thought.

Bucky blew out a breath. “Okay.”

Shooting him a warm smile, Steve bent his head to press a kiss to Bucky's lower abdomen—the delightfully warm skin was soft and smooth over taut muscles. God, he _really_ wanted to draw Bucky. But, _later_. The warm unique smell of him teased Steve's nostrils

Brushing his flesh thumb across Steve's cheekbone, Bucky said, “Whenever you're ready.” Which was probably meant to be a reassurance, but somehow felt more like a prompting to get on with it, already.

As he finally did take Bucky into his mouth, Steve carefully watched Bucky's face for clues, and the expression Bucky was making certainly looked like pleasure. Shock, and maybe disbelief too, but...in a good way.

“Fuck,” Bucky breathed. His face twitched. “That's—that's good, Steve.”

It tasted sort of strange, salty—which was sweat, and expected—but also pungent. Like _Bucky_ , of course, like he smelled and tasted elsewhere, but still unfamiliar. New. Not exactly bad, but...not exactly good either. A bit too strong, too concentrated. But it didn't really matter what it tasted like; this wasn't about _Steve_ , this was about _Bucky_.

Steve had to stop once, though, because he had a piece of loose hair in his mouth. “Sorry,” he said, brushing it off his finger onto the bedspread once he'd managed to get it out of his mouth.

Bucky laughed, shaking his head. “Pretty sure I'm the one who should be sorry, Steve.”

“But...” Steve met Bucky's eyes a little hesitantly. “It was good?” He rubbed the saliva off his lower lip with his thumb. “I mean, I was doing it right?”

“Gods, Steve.” Groaning, Bucky rubbed his flesh hand over his face. “It was amazing. You were doing _amazing_.”

Flashing him a slightly nervous grin, Steve bent his head and took Bucky in his mouth again. He was pretty sure Bucky had done...well, quite a lot, really, with his tongue, so Steve tried to do the same.

“Yeah,” Bucky groaned, clutching handfuls of the bedspread at his sides. “Like that, Stevie—oh, gods, _yes_ , please—” And maybe it wasn't exactly detailed, specific feedback, but it was pretty clear Bucky liked _something_ Steve was doing. He only wished he knew what. But it didn't seem to matter, because Bucky was saying, “ _Steve_ , I'm gonna—”

And that probably meant Steve could pull off if he wanted—finish with his hand—but Bucky hadn't done that when it was his turn. And, well, it probably felt _better_ this way, so Steve just rubbed his thumb reassuringly against Bucky's hipbone, hoping he understood it was okay. And then it didn't matter, because— Oh, that was—well, it wasn't entirely terrible, wasn't the worst thing ever, but. Wow. Steve swallowed, trying not to gag or choke.

It really wasn't _that_ bad.

“Stevie, you okay?” Bucky's flesh hand brushed against the side of Steve's face.

“Yeah.” Steve swallowed again, blinking. Maybe he'd need to brush his teeth to get the taste out.

“You didn't have to—” Bucky brushed his thumb over Steve's cheekbone. “You could've—”

Steve kissed his hipbone, then moved up the bed again to relax against Bucky's side. “You gave me enough warning. I know I could've.” He kissed Bucky's shoulder. “It's fine.”

Bucky quirked an eyebrow at him. “But you didn't like it.”

Steve tried to smile but it felt more like a grimace. “Don't—” He shook his head. “Look, I might not be the expert here or anything, but...I kinda think it was meant to be more enjoyable for you than for me.”

Bucky grinned at him, reaching up to brush his flesh thumb across Steve's bottom lip—the contact thrilled his over-sensitive nerve endings, and Steve shuddered. “I did enjoy it, Stevie. I enjoyed it a lot.”

Steve grinned bright and glad, because maybe he'd done something right after all.

o0o

When Steve came back out of the bathroom after very thoroughly brushing his teeth and rinsing his mouth—it was obvious he'd really disliked the taste, no matter how he tried to convince both Winter and apparently himself that it hadn't been that bad—Winter smiled at him from where he lay in the bed. He'd taken his pills while Steve brushed his teeth, swallowing them dry because he didn't feel like walking to the kitchen to get water, and he was feeling a bit sleepy, but he didn't want to close his eyes just yet, because Steve had put his sweatpants back on, but not his shirt, and it was a beautiful sight: Steve, backlit with the light from the bathroom, all smooth mounds of muscle sheathed in endless sun-gold skin.

Pulling back the covers, Steve raised an eyebrow and a hint of a blush touched his cheeks. “Didn't feel like getting dressed again?”

Winter took the opportunity to stretch a bit, lazy as a cat in the sun, enjoying the feel of the sheets—and Steve's eyes—against his skin. “I can if you want me to.”

Shrugging, Steve just crawled into the bed. “I'm more comfortable myself with pants on, but you should do whatever you like.”

Right. Because Steve so rarely had opinions on how Winter should dress. Frowning thoughtfully, Winter scraped his teeth over his bottom lip. “Steve?”

Turning on his side to face him, Steve said, “Yeah, Buck?”

“Are you—” Winter let his voice quaver only slightly. “Are you still my CO?”

“If you want me to be, Buck.” Steve's hand found his under the blankets and he pressed a kiss to Winter's flesh shoulder. “I can be both your boyfriend and your CO. Whatever you need.”

Letting out a relieved breath, Winter moved closer so he could press his face into Steve's beautiful chest and breathe in his smell. It was reassuring, familiar, real. Winter felt himself relax as though he were melting into Steve, and everything was warm and beautiful and right. His voice was more of a soft exhalation than anything when he said, “Good.”

o0o

When Tony awoke with what was possibly the worst hangover of his life—though, it was possible he was being dramatic, since most every hangover felt that way while he was having it—at first he didn't know where the eff he was. It sure as hell wasn't his quarters or his cabin...but he was in a bed—and...hadn't he fallen asleep on a couch?

Everything hurt, from the tips of his fingers and toes to the ends of his _hair_ , but at least the lighting was muted. “JARVIS?” he tried, but got no response. Shit. That wasn't a good sign.

“Oh hey, Sleeping Beauty,” a feminine voice greeted him and he turned—too quickly, ugh, yikes—to see Darcy Lewis standing in the door—she was still a welcome sight even through the nausea and headache. “Though I suppose not so much right now.” She offered him a grimace that may have been meant to be a sympathetic smile. “Thor sent me to check on you,” she explained, pointing back over her shoulder with her thumb. “Because you fell asleep, and he didn't really feel like carrying you all the way back to your quarters—not that he couldn't have, of course, with all those muscles, but I guess he thought maybe you'd find that embarrassing.”

And yeah, Tony probably would have but... He rubbed a hand over his face. “I'm sure I've had far more embarrassing things happen that I may or may not actually remember but that have been recorded and preserved in vid and holo form.” By Rhodey. And Happy. Maybe once or twice by Pepper. He frowned at Darcy. “Am I on the Sleipnir?”

Darcy nodded. “Yup.”

Okay, that explained the lack of JARVIS. “Which is still docked at Avenger Tower?”

Darcy grinned. “Yeah.”

Tony blew out a breath, scrubbing his fingers through his hair. “Just making sure.” He pressed his lips together. “What time is it?”

“It's, like, ten—” She wrinkled her nose. “I honestly didn't expect you to be awake yet.”

Tony grimaced. “Yeah, I...” He gestured vaguely towards his temple, “think the headache woke me up.”

“Right.” Stepping into the room, Darcy handed him a small bottle that apparently only contained two pills. “Bruce gave me that to give to you. Also, he says you're an idiot, but you probably already know that.”

Gripping the bottle in his hand, Tony quirked an eyebrow at her. “Did he say the part about me already knowing that?”

“Yup.” Darcy grinned crookedly.

Sliding to sit on the edge of the bed and letting his feet touch the floor—no shoes, thankfully, so someone, probably Thor, had taken them off at some point—Tony looked up at her. “I assume they have something like a shower on this thing?” He'd need to find some water to swallow the pills too—dry swallowing was _not_ something to be attempted while hungover. At least not while this hungover. Even _thinking_ about gagging was a bad idea.

“Totally.” Turning, Darcy gestured for him to follow. “I'll show you how it works.”

The smirk that her words prompted was marred by the vertigo as Tony stood up and tried to keep his feet, but he still managed to sound suitably suggestive when he murmured, “Best offer I've heard all week.” More like all month, but...

The grin Darcy shot him over her shoulder was bright, and there was a pleased light in her eyes. But she said, “You're going to have to do better than that, Mister Stark.”

“Just you wait.” Tony caught himself on the door-frame into what was apparently the cabin's bathroom. “I'm much more charming when I'm not...” He gestured vaguely to himself. He swallowed against the insistent nausea. “Not all hungover.”

“Yeah, well.” Darcy smiled lopsidedly. “Most people are.”

o0o

When Steve finally became reasonably aware that he was awake or at least waking up, he realized he'd been drifting for a while on a hazy cloud of indolent contentment, just enjoying the warmth of the bed and Bucky at his side. That...wasn't usual for him. If he woke up, he woke up. And he got up. It had been that way since...since the serum, probably. And he hadn't been much for lazing around even before that. But, well, the previous night had been different. Special. So very special. He felt his sleep-warmed cheeks warm further. Burrowing back into the blankets and pillows, he pressed in closer to Bucky.

Turning his head, Bucky peeked at him from under heavy lids. “Mornin'.”

Steve smiled lamely at him. He really wasn't sure what to say, so he kissed Bucky's shoulder instead, glancing up through his lashes to watch Bucky's face.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Bucky tilted his head back, grinning broadly. His metal hand came up to ruffle Steve's already sleep-tousled hair as his gaze met Steve's, eyes lit with affection. “So how's it feel waking up next to your new boyfriend for the first time? Any different than it did yesterday?”

“Actually...” Steve looked away, then met Bucky's eyes again. “Yeah.” Maybe it didn't make much sense—it wasn't the first time he'd woken up next to Bucky. Not by _far_. But, it was different. “It feels...” He dropped his gaze, blushing. “Warm.” He bit his lip. “I mean—” He tensed, biting his lip again. “I'm sorry, that doesn't—doesn't make any sense. Of course it's 'warm'—it's _always_ warm, because—”

But Bucky shook his head, wrapping his arms around Steve to pull him close and press a kiss to the top of his head. “It makes perfect sense.” He shifted against the mattress and Steve remembered suddenly that under the covers Bucky was naked, so he blushed again, but Bucky was speaking, so he had to listen. “It's always warm when we're together, but it's _warmer_ now—right? Because, um.” His teeth were white where they pressed into the pink of his lip. “That's how it feels for me.”

“Yeah.” Steve grinned, relieved and happy. “That's exactly it.” Maybe it still didn't make sense, but at least he could be cheesy and incomprehensible with Bucky rather than alone.

Letting go of Steve to stretch his arms above his head, Bucky moved his whole body, arching his back off the bed. The sheet slipped until it was barely clinging to his hips, hanging precariously on his hipbones. He shot Steve a sultry look, catching him watching. His voice was low and sensual when he said, “See anything you like?”

Steve's cheeks heated further, but he just pulled himself up to sit cross-legged on the bed and said, “Yeah. I mean, I'd like to draw you. Again. If that's okay.”

Bucky's brows were a gorgeous twist of incredulity. Steve wanted to draw that too.

Brushing his hand down Bucky's side until it met the edge of the sheet, Steve smiled bashfully at him through his lashes. “If you're okay with it, Buck. Another nude, but...on your—with you lying on your back this time.”

Rolling his hips lazily against the weight of Steve's hand, Bucky smirked at him. “Think I can stay still long enough?”

Steve squeezed Bucky's hip, pressing down a bit. “I know you can.”

Bucky's eyes widened and his lips parted, letting out a breath. God, Bucky was beautiful.

Steve leaned in and kissed him—morning breath had never been as much of an issue since the serum, but he kept his mouth mostly closed anyway. Pulling away, he slid off the bed, saying, “First, we need some breakfast—what time is it anyway? JARVIS?”

“It is nine minutes after ten am,” the AI responded.

That was definitely time for breakfast. Past time, actually, but maybe they could make it up by having more than usual. His stomach certainly didn't object to the idea. “Hey, Buck, can you cut up some fruit, and—how do you feel about French toast?”

Sliding out of bed, Bucky walked up behind Steve to wrap his arms around him and press a kiss to the back of his neck. “That sounds great, Steve.”

But instead of throwing on some pants like Steve expected, Bucky cooked in the nude. It made Steve blush pretty much _constantly_ , but it wasn't like there was anyone else around to see—just Steve to see Bucky slicing strawberries as though that was the most normal thing to do while completely naked, and just Bucky to see Steve blush as though... Well, as though he was still a virgin.

Which he wasn't. But it must have been some sort of record: ninety-six years. Many people didn't even live that long, so Steve kind of had an unfair advantage, especially since he'd been asleep for seventy of those years. But still. Some sort of record, no doubt.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on pairings:  
> As hinted in this chapter, Tony/Darcy is going to be a thing.


	20. I'm Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bruce is the best doctor in the galaxy, Bucky is a teacher, and Steve is an attentive student (and also a dirty, rotten liar).

Tony didn't bother to check his phone until he got back to his own quarters and put on something clean—and more comfortable. And then he just asked JARVIS to check it for him, because even with Bruce's magical healing pills, his head still hurt. He laid back on his couch, resting his head on one of the throw-pillows, and closed his eyes. The couch—and the pillow—were kind of glorious and a huge improvement over standing, but not quite soft enough. Still, he'd grabbed himself a glass of water in the kitchen and didn't want to walk all the way back to his bed, so the couch would have to do.

Apparently he had three messages from Pepper, one from Thor, two each from Happy and Bruce. Bruce's were likely both disapproving, mildly-exasperated lectures, so they could wait. Pepper's might actually have something important. Same with Happy's. He asked for Thor's first.

As expected, it was a politely exuberant check-in to be sure he was okay. Tony had JARVIS text him a reassuring thank-you.

The first of Happy's messages was a confirmation that Simmons had in fact visited Skye and that the visit was apparently uneventful—which was either good news or very bad news because the Rising Tide and/or HYDRA were plotting something nefarious and doing a great job of hiding it. The second was a mildly-concerned inquiry after his health. Tony had JARVIS reply, telling Happy he really needed to try Asgardian Ale sometime, because it was _awesome_.

Pepper's first message was letting him know Barton and Romanoff had arrived safely at the Tower—so, good news there. The second one was the expected mild-worry-mixed-with-vague-irritation, so he didn't even bother to listen to the third, since it would undoubtedly be more of the same. Nothing about the Barton and Romanoff thing actually required a response, so he didn't bother replying to her at all. Happy would show her his message, anyway. Tony grinned at the thought of her reaction: she'd probably make some disgusted sound in her throat. Might even roll her eyes.

Without even bothering to open either of Bruce's messages, Tony just sent him a general, 'I'm fine, so calm the eff down,' and then decided it was a good time to take a nap.

o0o

Maybe Winter should have gotten dressed for breakfast just so Steve could have ordered him to get undressed again. But then he wouldn't have had the pleasure of seeing the effect his nudity had on Steve, so it was probably still worth it. And if Steve had wanted him dressed, he could have said so. If Steve had minded his nudity, maybe he would have. But Steve clearly enjoyed it, even while it made him uncomfortable. It was unclear if Steve's appreciation of Winter's form was more sexual or more artistic, but it didn't make much difference to Winter—it just felt good to be appreciated.

With breakfast done, Winter was lounging back on the bed, enjoying the pleasant feeling of fullness in his belly and the equally pleasant feeling of Steve's eyes on him. His head rested on the pillows like Steve wanted. The bedding lay rumpled about him—maybe that was more inspiring than a neatly-made bed. Winter wasn't going to question it; Steve was the artist after all.

Steve wasn't blushing quite so strongly as he readied his sketchbook; maybe he was getting more used to seeing his boyfriend naked. Or maybe it had something to do with the art, with having that as a means to focus his thoughts. Steve met Winter's eyes with a question in his own. “You all right?”

Winter smiled at him, because he was _so_ 'all right'. He was Steve's boyfriend now, but Steve was giving him the direction he needed without protest...even without prompting. When they'd sat down together at the table, Steve had even told him to eat despite Winter knowing he was generally expected to do so anyway. And after breakfast, Steve had segued into his drawing thing, giving Winter instructions as if it was entirely natural, so Winter was floating on a euphoric cloud of doing exactly what Steve wanted. But right then Steve wanted him to answer a question, and probably wanted him to do it out loud, so, “I'm fine, Steve.”

Steve returned his smile. “Good. Just...” He poised his pencil over the page. “Stay still.”

And this was something Winter _knew_ he was good at, something he could do _so_ well for Steve. But he probably shouldn't watch Steve this time, because Steve was still blushing a bit, and Winter might end up smirking if he paid any attention to that—Steve was just so godsdamned adorable when he blushed. And Winter was meant to keep his face still so Steve could draw it. So he just let his eyes unfocus, looking at nothing.

The only sounds in the room were the soft sounds of their breathing and the quiet scratch of Steve's pencil against the paper. Winter's mouth still tasted vaguely like the fresh tang of strawberries.

It felt like, somehow, this was a dream. The sort of dream Winter never had, but that maybe Bucky had...long ago.

He didn't want to spoil the picture by moving, but Steve had said the last time that it was okay for him to talk. It was probably better if he didn't talk much, especially if Steve was trying to draw his face, but it should be okay to just say, “Love you, Stevie.”

Looking up at him, Steve grinned bashfully, brushing his bangs off his forehead with the hand that held his pencil. “Love you too, Buck.”

o0o

Winter blinked awake to the feel of Steve's lips gentle as a sunbeam against his forehead. He blinked a couple more times in confusion—how had Steve managed to kneel next to him on the bed without waking him? Was he so used to Steve's presence that his guard was almost completely down? And also... _why had he fallen asleep_? He wasn't supposed to be sleeping. He stopped himself before rubbing a hand over his face—he wasn't supposed to move. “Sorry.”

Steve shook his head, grin all indulgent affection. “Nothing to be sorry for, Buck.”

Winter tried to stay still, barely letting his chest move with each breath. “I fell asleep.”

“I noticed.” Steve pressed a kiss to Winter's cheekbone.

“But...” Winter argued, frowning, “I was supposed to be staying still.” It would have been easier if he'd been kneeling—it would be nearly impossible to fall asleep while kneeling—but lying on a bed was no excuse for falling asleep when Steve had given him clear instructions.

Steve shrugged. “You did. I got the drawing done and everything—wanna see?”

Winter definitely wanted to see, but _how_ had he fallen asleep? Even if he _hadn't_ moved in his sleep, he _could have_ , and that would have been...bad. Very bad. Slowly pushing himself up to sit against the headboard, Winter nodded. He reminded himself that Steve wouldn't have punished him anyway. But that wasn't the point, was it? Because he would have deserved a punishment—right? For disobeying a direct order. Steve's continued insistence on leniency didn't change what was _right_.

Steve showed him the picture, and it was...amazing, erotic—a muscular, naked man sprawled languidly on an artfully rumpled bed, careless hair framing his face as feathery lashes brushed the tops of his cheekbones. The metal arm, relaxed innocently at his side belied its own deadliness—something like a puppet with its strings cut, but so much more _alive—_ somehow, being a robotic limb escaped its notice, and it was so much _more_.

Winter's voice was unexpectedly rough when he said, “That's me.” He rubbed at his throat with his flesh hand.

“'Course it's you.” Steve bumped Winter's naked hip with his knee. “Aren't any other naked guys napping in my bed.”

Winter flashed him a grin, setting the sketchpad aside and sliding his metal hand up Steve's thigh. _Other_ naked people should stay in their own beds, but... It was Steve's bed, after all. “Could stand to have just _one_ more.” He looked pointedly at Steve and the clothing he was currently wearing.

Steve's eyes widened in feigned innocence. “But, Bucky, I'm not tired.”

Twisting his metal fingers in the material at Steve's hip, Winter pulled him down on top of him—not that Steve actually resisted—growling, “Good.”

Steve was laughing, eyes framed with the most fascinating and endearing crinkles, and he kissed Winter's chin then continued along his jaw until he reached his neck. And there, regrettably, _stopped_. “Bucky.” He was a little breathless. “It's pretty much lunchtime—aren't you hungry?”

'Hungry' wasn't the best word for what Winter was feeling. Not nearly specific enough, really. But if Steve wanted to eat... Winter let his arms fall loose at his sides. “Yeah, I guess.”

Pulling himself upright again, Steve smiled down at Winter, warm and just a touch sly. “After...you'll give me another lesson?”

Winter pulled himself upright as well and crushed Steve's mouth against his own. Pulling back, he met Steve's eyes with deliberate intent. “Absolutely.”

o0o

When Tony woke up, JARVIS informed him that it was one in the afternoon and that he should consider getting himself something to eat. Tony pushed himself up grumpily, swinging his legs over the side of the couch. It was times like this Tony wished JARVIS was a snarky _human_ butler instead of an AI programmed to sound like one, because human butlers could do things like prepare food and bring it to people whose headaches told them standing up and walking were still terrible ideas.

Tony was in the kitchen making himself a bowl of cereal when his door chimed. “JARVIS,” he whined, “just let whoever that is in, unless they're HYDRA and here to kill me.”

“Very good, sir.”

It turned out it was Bruce, and he wasn't in fact there to kill Tony. If he had been, Tony would have had to have words with JARVIS.

“You look...living,” Bruce allowed, as he slid onto the barstool next to Tony.

“Surprisingly enough.” Tony stirred his spoon through the milk—he'd put too much for the amount of cereal again and was going to have some left in the bowl, which would be gross. “Considering I already sent you a message to assure you of that.”

“Yes, well.” Bruce ducked his head, smiling shyly. “Just making sure it's still true.”

Tony rolled his eyes. Why was everyone so worried about him? At least _Steve_ hadn't sent him a frantic mother hen text demanding to know why he was such an idiot. He quirked an eyebrow at Bruce. “You got any more of those magic headache-go-away pills?”

“Actually...” Bruce pulled another small bottle from his pocket. “That's part of the reason I came by.”

“You're the best doctor in the galaxy.” Tony's eyes were fixed on the little plastic bottle as though it were an oasis in a desert. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip. “Probably the universe.”

Rolling his eyes and shaking his head, Bruce set the bottle on the counter next to Tony's bowl. “You can take two every six hours.”

“Seriously, you're a lifesaver.” Popping off the cap, Tony shook out two pills into it.

Bruce rested one elbow on the countertop, considering Tony. “Whatever happened to, 'I'm fine'?”

Washing the pills down with a few swallows of water, Tony rolled his eyes. “I _am_ fine. I'm just...hungover. And I've been hungover before. Like, a _lot_.” Folding his arms on the countertop, he pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I'm sort of the galaxy's leading expert on hangovers. Just ask Rhodey. And Happy. And Pepper.” He shook his head, turning in his stool to face Bruce. “Anyway, Thor and I have been planning this...feast...thing.” He gestured vaguely with one hand. “It's gonna be awesome. And you,” he said, pointing emphatically at Bruce's chest, “absolutely have to be there, barring actual, _documented_ medical emergencies.”

Bruce's smile was amused. “I guess I'll have to mark it down in my calendar.”

“Right.” Tony pursed his lips. “I'll let you know the actual date and time once we've finalized those details.”

o0o

Winter leaned back in his chair, watching as Steve cleared away their lunch dishes. He still hadn't bothered to put any clothes on—Steve hadn't bothered so much as to suggest that he do so, and he hadn't had a reason. “So...any special requests for the lesson?”

Glancing up as he closed the dish cleaner, Steve blushed. Because that's what he _did_ , the adorable idiot. “I...” Steve began, grinning nervously and rubbing at the back of his neck.

Winter stood up in one smooth motion and crossed the small space between them to put his flesh hand on Steve's jaw. “Hey.” He nuzzled at Steve's cheek. “It's not _that_ scary.”

Steve let out a huff. “I'm not scared.”

“'Course you're not,” Winter soothed, grinning as he pulled back to look into Steve's eyes, letting his hands settle on Steve's hips.

“I'm not,” Steve insisted, jaw hardening. But he didn't seem to know what to do with his hands—Winter was standing right in front of him, all naked and inviting, and Steve wasn't even touching him.

Winter resisted rolling his eyes. Steve was like some sort of skittish animal, constantly needing to be led and cajoled into what he was too proud to admit he wanted.

At any rate, they probably weren't going to do it in the kitchen, so, “Bedroom?”

Steve ducked his head, smiling bashfully at Winter through his lashes. “Sure.”

So Winter pulled Steve along by his hand, backing him up against the edge of the bed when they got there and pushing on his shoulders until Steve fell back—it didn't take much pressure. “So...” Winter said, climbing on top, straddling Steve's still-clothed body—and, gods, what a body it was. “If you don't have any suggestions—or _objections_ —I figured we could try something simple this time.”

Steve offered him a shy, lopsided smile. A warm blush burned on the tops of his cheeks. “Simple sounds good.”

Winter grinned crookedly down at him. “This is probably the simplest sort of sex. It's a bit messier than what we did last night, but...you don't end up with any sort of _taste_ in your mouth, so you'll probably like it better.”

Turning his head to hide half his face in his stupidly muscular arm, Steve mumbled, “I didn't mind.”

Which was a lie—the dirty, rotten _liar_. Winter ground his ass down against Steve's hips for the lie, grinning at how Steve was already getting hard. Good. That was sort of necessary, after all.

“Bucky...” Closing his eyes, and sucking in a breath, Steve caught Winter's flesh hand in his own. He opened his eyes and looked up, meeting Winter's gaze, all worry and hope and sincerity. “We can do the—what we did last night again, okay?” Either he didn't know the proper name, or he was reluctant to say it—both options were kind of infuriatingly endearing. “I _did_ like it. And I can get better.”

Leaning down, Winter kissed him gently. “Of course we'll do it again—did you want to do that now?”

Steve shook his head. “Another time. You were going to teach me something new, remember?” And then he ran his tongue along his lower lip as though maybe he'd already picked up on how enticing that could be.

Winter grinned broadly, letting the warmth he felt show in his eyes. He trailed a metal finger along Steve's jaw. “Such an eager student.”

A flash of playful challenge crossed Steve's face and he linked his hands behind his neck, grinning up at Winter. “Would you prefer a bored, disinterested student? Maybe a sullen one? The kind who talks back and argues?”

Winter bit him on the mouth, because he deserved it. Filthy little _punk_. “I prefer _attentive_ students.”

Chuckling softly and watching Winter through soft lashes, Steve conceded, “All right, Bucky; I'll be good.”

“Yeah, you'd better be,” Winter said softly as he slid his hands under the hem of Steve's t-shirt. “Now, this tends to work better if we're both naked.” It was still _possible_ while clothed, but—certainly _better_ when naked.

Steve's smile was a little lopsided and his voice a little breathless. His teeth were white where they bit into the pink fullness of his lip. “Sounds good.”

He submitted to being stripped—and openly admired—as Winter explained, “There's no 'turns' this way; we both do the same things at the same time. Like I said, it's simpler.” He regarded Steve where he lay back against the pillows, fully nude and unashamed. “The only question is who's going to be on top.”

“You be on top.” Steve shrugged, running one hand down Winter's thigh. “Unless you'd rather me, but...you're the teacher—seems to make sense.”

It probably didn't make much difference either way, but Steve wanted him on top, so Winter climbed on again—and it felt so damn good to be touching so much skin-to-skin.

“There gonna be homework, teach?” Steve was watching him under heavy lids, pupils dark and large.

“Might be,” Winter replied thoughtfully as he lined their hips up. Because making Steve do a little reading, a little research, kind of couldn't _hurt_ , could it?

“There gonna be a test?” Gods, Steve really was a punk, and the line between 'attentive' and 'the kind who talks back' was apparently blurred in his mind. His hands were gentle as they rested on Winter's shoulders—warm against the flesh one and unconcerned by the metal. Because Steve treated the metal as if it were just another part of him.

“There's always a test,” Winter shot back. But he let his voice and expression warm when he added, “Pretty sure you'll pass though, since you're dating the teacher.”

Tilting his head back against the pillow, Steve let out a burst of surprised laughter. “I'm...really not sure that makes any sense, Buck, given the subject here.”

Winter rolled his eyes. “You could pass on your abs _alone_. Now—” He caught Steve's gaze. “Pay attention, because we're going to get started.”

Steve swallowed, expression suddenly serious. “What should—?”

Winter shook his head a little. “Just—this is probably going to come pretty natural, but...do as I do, okay? Do what feels good.” And then he rolled his hips down against Steve's, and Steve gasped and clutched at him. Winter asked, “Good?”

Steve nodded jerkily, fingers flexing against Winter's flesh and one hand moving to grip the left side of his neck.

Winter's fingers—metal and flesh alike—found Steve's nipples, teasing them a bit, and Steve arched up, gasping. His cheeks were dusted with a fresh blush like an early morning frost. If early morning frost was oddly pink for some reason. But anyway, apparently Steve's nipples were a little above average in sensitivity. Or at least, above Winter's _own_ sensitivity, since he really wasn't an expert on statistical averages when it came to nipple sensitivity. As far as he knew, in general, women's tended to be more sensitive than men's, but other than that, he really didn't know. Still, Steve's struck him as surprisingly sensitive. It was a nice surprise.

Grinding against Steve again, Winter leaned down to whisper in his ear, “Come on, punk; show me what you've got.”

And that's pretty much all it took to have Steve grinding up against him, a little desperate, as he clutched at every part of Winter he could reach, pulling him closer.

Winter grinned. He'd been right; it came pretty natural to Steve.

Steve was panting, saying breathless, mostly incoherent things like, 'Bucky,' and, 'Please.' His nails bit into the back of Winter's neck and his grip on Winter's hair was bordering on legitimately painful. It felt amazing. Bugger 'don't let me hurt you' or whatever; there was no way Winter was going to tell him to stop, even if he ended up breaking the skin with those smooth, blunt nails.

Winter's metal hand gripped Steve's shoulder, metal fingers biting into the muscled flesh. “Gods, _Steve_.”

“Bucky...” Steve's voice broke as his hips jerked unevenly, his mouth open—hot and wet—against Winter's flesh shoulder. And then there was that mess they'd talked about, also hot and wet and—

Winter collapsed, panting, on top of Steve. It was going to get pretty gross pretty fast if they didn't get cleaned up, but he just needed a moment to catch his breath.

Steve's fingers were soothing as they slid through Winter's hair. “How'd I do, teach?”

Winter grunted, bumping the bridge of his nose against Steve's jaw. “A-fucking-plus.”

Steve chuckled, warm and rich. “Gonna write it that way on my report card?”

“Yep.” Pushing himself up, Winter looked down at Steve's too-smug grin. “Just like that.” He rubbed his metal thumb over Steve's slightly swollen bottom lip. “With a personal comment: 'Student is a fucking natural—recommend advanced fucking program for further fucking enrichment and fucking challenge.'”

Still smiling far too slyly as his cheeks somehow managed to blush on top of the exertion flush already present, Steve put on an almost innocent voice and asked, “Is that advanced program with the same teacher?”

Winter kissed him, demanding and with teeth. “Damn right it is.” Pulling himself upright—and the stickiness between them was kind of getting gross at that point—Winter slapped Steve on his stupidly-muscled, sweat-damp bicep. “Let's get cleaned up before this all dries on and gets itchy as hell.”

Pulling himself up as well, Steve sat on the edge of the bed and shot Winter a too-pleased but still kinda bashful little smile. “Wanna join me in the shower?”

_Hell_ yeah. Winter bumped his own sweat-damp shoulder against Steve's. “Just see if you could keep me out.”

Laughing, Steve stood up. He held up one hand as if giving an oath. “Wouldn't ever try.”

The shower, perhaps predictably, quickly devolved from mostly sincere 'washing each other' into enjoying the slide of soapy skin a little too much.

“God, Bucky,” Steve panted, clutching at Winter, grip pretty darn good despite all the soap-slickness. “Why's it feel so much better when it's _your_ hand?”

Winter tipped one shoulder in a vague shrug. There was probably some sort of science there, but he'd never claimed to be an actual expert, for all this 'teacher' business with Steve. Sliding his metal hand low over Steve's abdomen, he asked, “Want to try the other one?”

Shuddering, Steve pressed closer to Winter, swallowing convulsively and nodding, shaky. “Yeah.”

Winter shook his head in wonder. As he'd kind of guessed he would, Steve liked the metal hand at least as much as he did Winter's flesh one, crying out as he clutched desperately at Winter, pressing his forehead into the curve of Winter's neck. The most sensitive and vulnerable part of Steve's body at the direct mercy of the most deadly part of Winter's—Steve probably got one heck of a rush off that.

When he was done gasping and panting and had regained enough strength to stand on his own again, Steve touched Winter with confidence that probably shouldn't have been surprising—this, he knew how to do. And yeah, he did it well.

o0o

Thor himself dropped by Tony's quarters that afternoon.

Waving him inside, Tony rolled his eyes a bit. “I'm _fine_ ; by the way.”

“That is very good to hear,” Thor said, looking and sounding sincere. Which he generally did. He was like...sincerity in a cape with improbably pretty hair.

Tony rolled his eyes again. Motioning to his couch, Tony flopped down in his chair. Thor took the offered seat on the couch, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “So,” Tony said, “about the supply of Asgardian alcohol—I did say that out loud and not just dream it, right?”

Thor nodded. “Indeed. I have sent word to my friends, the Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, and asked them to bring what you require.” He frowned slightly. “I assume they will also be welcome at the feast?”

“Oh, of course; absolutely.” Tony waved a hand, dismissing the idea he'd turn any of Thor's friends away. Pursing his lips thoughtfully, he added, “I don't believe I've actually had the pleasure of meeting any of them yet.”

“I'm sure they will be most happy to meet you.” Thor smiled, pushing a lock of his long blond hair behind his ear. “Here.” Pulling out his Stark Phone, he brought up a holo of three men and a woman, all in that vaguely medieval dress that was so fashionable on Asgard. And apparently always had been. “The woman is of course Sif,” Thor said, indicating her—she had long black hair and her hand rested on the pommel of the sword that hung at her hip. She was hot in a could-kill-you-with-her-pinky kind of way. Hell, they were all kind of hot, but she and Thor were clearly the best of the bunch. Unless someone had an extremely sexy voice to factor in. “And this is Volstagg,” Thor continued, indicating the large man with a mane of dark copper hair and an axe slung over his back. “And Hogun.” Thor pointed to the man with long black hair and a dignified beard. He was the only one not smiling even slightly. “And Fandral.” Thor indicated the last of the group, a man with blond hair and a goatee. Like Sif, he had a sword, but it was a different type of sword.

“You Asgardians are all so good-looking,” Tony groused. “Like humans, but stronger...and hotter. It's unfair.”

“Hogun is actually Vanir,” Thor corrected.

Tony shrugged. “Close enough.” Vanaheim was in the same system as Asgard. And Jotunheim, for that matter, but the Jotuns didn't look human—at least not usually. They didn't tend to socialize much either.

Thor laughed softly and flicked off the holo display. “I do not think all Vanir would appreciate that sentiment.”

Snorting softly, Tony leaned back in his chair. So what? Some Gifted didn't even like being called 'Gifted'. The only way to make _everyone_ happy would be to aggressively drug them all.

Except that kinda wouldn't work with Rogers.

o0o

They'd just finished supper and Bucky—who, thankfully, had finally put clothes on after their shower—was clearing away the dishes when the door chimed. Steve answered it, and the door slid open to reveal Natasha. “Hey.” He grinned. “Welcome back.” He motioned for her to enter. “Come in?”

Stepping inside, Natasha waited for the door to slide closed before pulling him into a tight hug saying, “You know, I do have a phone. Big stuff happening for you, and I hear about it from Pepper.”

Oh, right. In Steve's defence, he'd been kinda really very busy. “Sorry.” When she released him, Steve rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Um, how's Clint?”

Natasha folded her arms, shrugging one shoulder. “He's fine. Relieved to be back, sleep in his own bed—you know how it is.”

Steve nodded. He did know, though no bed had ever really felt right without Bucky in it. He tried not to blush. “Hey, um, there's someone I want you to meet.”

Natasha smirked a bit. “I'll bet.”

“Bucky!” Steve called. Bucky stepped out of the kitchen looking a little hesitant, so Steve walked over and took his hand. “Bucky, this is my friend, Natasha.” Turning to Natasha, he said, “Nat, this is Sergeant James Barnes, Bucky, my boyfriend.” He ducked his head, trying even harder not to blush; it was the first time he'd introduced Bucky as his boyfriend. Because that was still pretty new.

After giving Bucky a quick head-to-toe sweep with her eyes, Natasha gave Steve a thumbs up and mouthed, 'Nice.' Quirking an eyebrow as she looked between the two of them, she said, “'Grats on the hot boyfriend—to both of you.”

Steve's brows twisted a bit, but he said, “Thank you,” because apparently he was supposed to?

“Thanks,” Bucky said, smiling a bit as he peeked sideways at Steve.

“So.” Natasha flopped down on the couch and rested her heels on the coffee table, ankles crossed. She tucked a lock of bright red hair behind her ear. “I kinda already know how you two met—but how'd the whole 'boyfriend' thing happen?”

Sitting down next to her and pulling Bucky down on his other side, Steve rubbed a hand through his hair. “Um, well, that's a pretty new development.”

Natasha twisted her eyebrows in open incredulity. “Yeah...I kinda guessed. Since, you know, last time I saw you, you were this big ol' sad and single dude with no interest in getting a date _ever_ with _anyone_.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I wasn't 'sad'.” And he'd...dated. Once. But it had been a good date—nice girl, pretty. She'd even seemed to like him well enough. And then she'd got back together with her ex—they had a kid, too—so Steve hadn't seen her since shortly after the Chitauri War. He hoped they were all okay, with everything that had been going on, hoped they'd found someplace safe.

But Natasha levelled a serious look at him and said, “Yeah; you were.”

Bucky squeezed his hand and Steve squeezed back. Steve was _fine_ , though; he'd _been_ fine. Why was everyone so worried about him all the time?

“Well.” Steve smiled warmly at Bucky then looked back at Natasha, still smiling. “I'm really happy to have Bucky back. That's, well, it's more than I could have ever asked for.”

Resting her elbow on the arm of the couch, Natasha regarded them both levelly. “Am I gonna ever hear the story, all the juicy details—or _any_ of them? I mean, last anyone heard, Sergeant Barnes was a casualty of the _First_ SHIELD-HYDRA War.”

Steve shrugged. “That's kind of what most people had heard about _me_ for a while there too.”

Natasha inclined her head towards him. “Fair enough.” She she and Clint had told him before about his pretty face being in their high school history textbooks. Which was somehow even stranger than Tony relating Howard's bedtime stories. Howard was—had been—a friend, but how could a bunch of total strangers properly summarize his life?

“I guess us New Brooklyn boys are a little harder to kill than most people expect,” Bucky said, ducking his head slightly and flashing Steve and Natasha a small, lopsided smile.

Steve grinned, broad and warm and kinda surprised, but really happy. “Maybe we're just too stubborn to stay dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on characters and canon:  
> Steve's one date that he's had since waking up in the future is meant to be Beth, the waitress from 'The Avengers' movie. Her ex and child are both entirely invented by me, however.


	21. Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky needs a hug, some new arrivals need to stay, and Tony needs to take Rhodey's advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gets distracted by everything* *forgets to post chapter that was 100% done on Friday* *feels really bad*

“So,” Natasha said as they walked through the hallways of Avenger Tower. She'd asked Steve to walk her home—a pretty obvious sign that she wanted to talk to him privately, because it wasn't like wild animals or bandits were lurking behind any corners, and even if there had been, she would have in all likelihood been able to handle them fine on her own. “How's your boyfriend actually alive?”

“Well,” Steve answered honestly, “we're not really sure—his memory's pretty spotty.”

Natasha's brow furrowed. “Do you mean his memories of that one event, or...?”

Grimacing, Steve's shoulders moved in a quick shrug. “Of everything.”

Natasha's frown deepened as she nodded thoughtfully, pursing her lips. “Sometimes lost memories can come back.”

“Yeah.” A smile, bright with hope, spread across Steve's face. “He's gotten a few back—just little things, I guess, but...” He shrugged again. “It still feels pretty significant.”

“Memories are vital to a person's sense of identity.” Natasha's smile was a little sad. “So yeah, it is.”

Steve frowned. What Natasha was saying made sense. But the only thing Bucky seemed to remember was _Steve_. That was...potentially a problem.

o0o

When Tony woke up, he felt much better. He'd fallen asleep again—in his bed even—after Thor left, and he felt rested and refreshed. “J,” he tried, “what time is it?”

“It is thirteen minutes after ten pm,” JARVIS replied.

“Great,” Tony said, pushing himself up, grinning. “Perfect time to head to the lab.” Because any time he _felt_ like it was a perfect time, so long as he didn't have anything else he was supposed to be doing. And he had so much less he was supposed to be doing since he made Pepper CEO. Best decision of his life, that.

“I don't suppose I can convince you to eat something first?” the AI tried.

Tony shook his head. “Not hungry, J.” He'd brush his teeth, though. And throw on a clean shirt.

o0o

“Bucky,” Steve said as they were lying, facing one another in the bed that night, “you remember some things...that aren't about _me_ , right?”

Winter nodded slowly. He'd thought maybe Steve would want to have sex, so he hadn't taken his pills yet, but it seemed Steve wanted to talk instead. So it was still good he hadn't taken his pills. “I do.” There was _one_ thing, anyway. It wasn't a nice thing. “Is it bad if you're in all my good memories?”

Steve's features tensed, pained. “I...I don't know, Bucky.”

Winter grimaced, pressing his lips together. He wanted to be _good_ for Steve. But he didn't know how to _make_ himself remember things. And...given a choice, he'd rather remember Steve. Sure, he'd had parents and a few other friends, but they were all dead—Steve was alive. And maybe he still wouldn't have any good memories that weren't of Steve, even if he somehow got _everything_ back.

“It's all right,” Steve amended quickly. “It's not your fault.” He pressed his lips together, brow furrowing. “What—what's the memory that isn't about me?”

Winter let out a breath. “I remember them taking my arm,” he said quietly. “Cutting—there was blood.”

“Oh, God,” Steve breathed, looking sick. Reaching out under the blankets, his hand found Winter's flesh one. His voice was rough, strained. “Bucky...”

“It's not new,” Winter assured him, stroking his thumb over the back of Steve's hand. His body felt too heavy where it lay in the bed, like it was pressing too deeply into the mattress. “I've always remembered.” It wasn't a memory he _like_ _d_ to replay, not like his newer ones, his _Steve_ ones. “Not all the details; it's flashes—the buzz of the saw, the light reflecting off the doctor's glasses.” Bile rising in his throat at the thick, red smell in his nostrils. “Bein' dragged through the snow, leavin' a trail of dark red—but that came before.” Before they actually took the arm, when it was just mangled and more helpless than the rest of him. He shrugged. “The pain never feels important, but it hurt. I know it hurt.”

“I'm sorry—” Steve was squeezing Winter's flesh hand so hard... He was, of course, supposed to tell Steve if he hurt him, but...Steve was distressed from what Winter was telling him, trying to reassure himself that Winter—that Bucky—was really there. Not dead, not bleeding out in a snowbank, no longer strapped down while Zola cut into him. There was 'hurt' meaning 'pain' and 'hurt' meaning 'injure'; Winter wasn't fully sure which Steve had meant, but he was in no danger of being _injured_.

Guilt twisted in Winter's gut. He knew he was flirting with disobedience. It wouldn't be the first time, and yet it still felt so _wrong_. Especially when Steve was always so patient and kind with him. But pain could help bond him to Steve—that was still important. All the better if Steve didn't realize he was _causing_ pain.

If Steve were to injure Winter, he'd feel guilty—he shouldn't, but he would. And he'd be angry at Winter for not stopping him. So Winter would tell him before that happened. But not when he was only feeling a bit of pain. This pain was necessary.

And it was Winter's fault Steve was distressed. Steve asked what the memory was, but he could have glossed over the details. He didn't have to tell about the saw, the blood... Winter was intentionally upsetting Steve and deserved the pain he got in return.

“I want to help.” Steve's voice was rough, edged sharp with desperation.

“You do,” Winter assured him, shifting a little closer so he could rest his forehead against Steve's collarbone. Steve always smelled so good, like safety, like warmth. “You are.”

Steve blew out a breath, wrapping one arm about Winter's shoulders and bringing his flesh hand up to his lips to kiss it, as if in apology. He wasn't squeezing it so hard anymore, just gripping sure and steady. “I just... I want to do more.”

Winter bit the inside of his cheek. This was...an opportunity to ask for what he needed, but he had to be careful. “It helps me when you touch my hair. And when you tell me what to do.”

Steve pulled back until he could look Winter in the face. “Do you need me to do those things more? Or now?” Repositioning the arm that held Winter against him, he slipped his fingers into the hair at the back of Winter's neck.

Winter blushed a bit, hesitantly meeting Steve's eyes. He grimaced. “They help.”

“Okay.” Steve let out a breath, and his fingers moved against the base of Winter's skull sending bright little sparks of pleasure out under his skin. “I've been trying— I— You're important to me, and I love you.” He looked away, expression sad and tinged with guilt. “I'm not very good at any of this.”

“I know you've been trying.” It's not like Winter hadn't _noticed_. “And I really appreciate that. A lot.” He really did. And Steve _was_ good, but Winter wasn't sure how to make him see that.

Steve met his eyes again, fingers twisting in Winter's hair. “Is there—is there anything else I can do?”

Winter took a breath. There were certainly many things Steve _could_ do, were he willing even to consider them. But Winter couldn't suggest anything Steve would see as 'hurting' Winter. And that really did rule out nearly every possible punishment—on top of the fact that Steve didn't want to punish him at all.

But then he remembered. “The first day here—at the Tower—you...wrapped me in a blanket.” He didn't quite meet Steve's eyes, but he felt them on him. “That...felt good, and it helped.” He grimaced. “Just...being held still—I felt safe, secure.” Protected, loved, and held in check. Under control.

When Winter chanced a glance at Steve's face, his brow was furrowed slightly. “Did you need me to do that again?”

“I think it might help.” Winter was almost sure it would, even though it was unlikely Steve would restrain him in such a way that he couldn't get free if he tried. “But...you could just hold me still—just you.” They were under blankets anyway.

“Bucky.” Steve laced his fingers through Winter's flesh ones, squeezing slightly. Winter's hand only ached a little from how Steve had squeezed it earlier. His soft blue eyes glowed with sincerity. “If you need something, just _ask_ —okay? But yeah, of course; I can do that if you need it.”

Steve wrapped himself around Winter, arranging their bodies so his chest was pressed to Winter's back and his hips were tight against the curve of Winter's ass. He threw one leg, heavy and deliberate, across Winter's legs and wrapped one arm across Winter's chest, tight like a harness. The uncertainty in his voice was oddly discordant with the sure, determined way his body gripped Winter. “Is this...?” Okay? Good? Enough? Right? It was all of those things.

Nodding, Winter let out a shaky breath. His voice was rough when he said, “Don't let go.”

“I won't.” And _there_ was the unwavering resolve.

Winter shuddered, pressing back against Steve's unmoving wall of muscle and determination. “Even if I fight you; don't let go.”

Steve's exhalation stirred the hair at the back of Winter's neck. His voice was still strong and sure when he said, “I won't let you go.”

So Winter let go a little himself, trusting that Steve would keep him together.

o0o

As Tony approached the labs, he was somewhat surprised to see the lights on in the main medical bay. Was someone just working late, or had there been an emergency? Frowning, he wandered in. Bruce was in the main room, doing something medical-y with medical-type stuff. “Working late?” Tony asked.

Bruce looked up. “Oh, kind of, I guess. We had new patients come in.” 'New' patients sounded like _new to the Tower_ , since everyone there had already seen Bruce or his staff at least once. Tony was about to ask who and where and other questions of that nature when Bruce added, “Doctor Simmons is with them now.” Turning, he pointed to one of the exam rooms.

Tony pursed his lips, leaning on one of the lab tables. “Where's the other third of your medical staff?”

“Carter has the morning shift,” Bruce explained, going back to whatever he'd been doing when Tony walked in. “Oh, and...” Bruce looked up again, smiling at Tony. “I'm glad to see you feeling better, too.”

Tony nodded. As with any hangover, time and sleep had been the ultimate cure. “So when you say 'new patients', you mean new arrivals to the tower?” Bruce nodded, pushing his glasses up his nose with one knuckle. Tony pursed his lips again. “Chances they're HYDRA?”

Chuckling softly, Bruce shook his head. “Pretty low. They're a couple of kids, really—just thirteen and eighteen. Brothers.”

“No adults with them?” Tony frowned. It wouldn't exactly be surprising, but it was still a bit disturbing.

“Technically,” Bruce said, looking up and smiling, “eighteen is pretty universally recognized as an adult. At least for humans.”

“Okay, but just _barely_ ,” Tony shot back. Looking toward the closed door of the exam room, Tony frowned again. “Any injuries?”

Bruce shook his head. “No, but they're both at least mildly dehydrated and somewhat malnourished. It's a good thing they got here when they did.”

Tony nodded. “Guess so.”

The door swung open, and Simmons walked out, saying, “I'll want to see you both again in a few days, so I do hope you'll stay.”

Rolling his eyes, Tony walked decisively towards her. He raised his voice, saying, “Of course they'll stay.” He might have a reputation in some parts of the galaxy as a heartless bastard, but he wasn't about to turn children out into the cold. That would never happen.

Simmons turned to smile warmly at him. “Mister Stark, it's so good to see you again.”

“It's good to see you as well, Doctor Simmons.” Nodding, Tony returned her smile then turned his attention to her two patients where they stood just inside the door. They both had black hair, and the shorter one was sort of incredibly skinny and gawky in the way only teenage boys could be. “Welcome to Avenger Tower. I hope you'll enjoy your stay.” They were both gaping at him, mouths open and eyes wide. Sighing, Tony resisted rolling his eyes. “Is it the celebrity thing?” He grinned. “I get that a lot.”

Both boys moved at the same time to try to shake Tony's hand, so that didn't work out well. “Sorry,” the older one said, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Tadashi Hamada.” He gestured to his brother. “And my brother, Hiro Hamada.”

Tony shook Tadashi's hand then shook Hiro's as well. They were both gushing about what an honour it was to meet him, and Tony smiled to cover how much he really did want to roll his eyes. “I assume you've been assigned some quarters? JARVIS, we've given these kids somewhere to sleep, haven't we?”

“Affirmative, sir; I made the arrangements myself.”

“Good.” Tony ushered the kids out of the exam room, frowning sternly at them. “You weren't planning on going back out there into space any time soon were you?”

“Well...” Tadashi began, shifting his weight awkwardly from foot to foot. He offered Tony a hopeful half-smile. “A friend recommend this place, said his friend knew you were one of the good guys, that we could trust you.”

Tony smirked. “Well, I don't know about trusting me, personally, but I'm on the good side, or at least a side that isn't trying to kill people and stuff, so that counts for something right?” He quirked an eyebrow. “Who's been recommending me, anyway?”

Tadashi glanced at his brother then back at Tony. He let out a breath. “Peter Parker? I don't know him, but he's a friend of Wasabi's...”

“Peter's okay?” Tony managed to restrain himself from grabbing Tadashi's arm.

“I think so?” Tadashi said slowly, grimacing. “All I know is that he told Wasabi about you, but I don't really know how long ago that was.” He let out a breath. “I figured it couldn't hurt to ask for your help...”

Tony knew nothing about this 'Wasabi' person—other than that he approved of the name—but it was the closest thing he'd had to word about Peter in...how long had it _been_ , anyway? Far too long. Since before this whole stupid war broke out. But Peter was a smart kid. And tough. Tony let out a breath. “Well, Peter's right; you'll be safe here.” He tilted his head to one side, regarding Tadashi. “You know of any place safer? Any place that would be even partially safe to go travelling to—just two kids, alone—right now?”

Tadashi shook his head, gaze lowered. “This was the only place we knew to try.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“JARVIS, these two have food in their kitchen yet?” Tony asked. He didn't miss the way Hiro's face brightened at the word 'food'.

“Security personnel are stocking their quarters with standard necessities as we speak, sir.”

Tony smiled. “Great work, J.” Then he turned to the Hamada brothers. “Had you met JARVIS?”

Tadashi nodded. “He answered my hails and gave us permission to dock.”

Tony's smile broadened. No doubt JARVIS also called Bruce and Simmons, or at least one of the two. “Well, if you need anything at all, don't hesitate to ask JARVIS. Any time, day or night. He's happy to help.”

Tadashi smiled. “Yeah, I was getting that impression. He's really a brilliant AI, sir.”

“Thank you,” JARVIS replied, soundly mildly pleased.

Tadashi grinned, glancing up at the ceiling. “You're welcome, JARVIS.”

“Now unless the doctors need you for anything else...” Tony looked from Bruce to Simmons, but they both shook their heads. “You should head for those quarters JARVIS assigned, eat, and get to bed.”

“Thank you, sir.” Tadashi shook his hand again. Just as Tony expected him to turn away he said, “I'd like a job, Mister Stark. I—I'm only a student, but I'm really good at robotics; I think I could help you out.”

The kid wanted to earn his keep. And his brother's keep. Tony nodded. “Absolutely. We'll get you some lab space and anything you need. _A_ _fter_ your next doctor's appointment—I want you to rest and recover between now and then. As Bruce keeps telling me, the brain works better when the body's healthy.” He caught Bruce's smile and poked his tongue out at him.

“I'm fine, though,” Tadashi protested. “I can start right away.”

“Right...” Tony looked him up and down, taking in the way his hands shook slightly and the dark hollows under his eyes. “When was the last time you slept? Or ate _anything_?”

“We had dinner last night.” Hiro looked between his brother and Tony. “Some protein bars and a bit of dried fruit.”

Well, it was better than _nothing_ , anyway. But it had been at least a _full day_ since they'd last eaten? That was something _Tony_ might do, sure, but these were kids—the younger one wasn't even finished growing. What they hell would they have done had JARVIS not let them in? Tony narrowed his eyes at Hiro. “Did your brother actually eat any of that?”

“Well...” Hiro hung his head, flushing. “He said he wasn't hungry, and made me eat half his protein bar.” He looked up, meeting Tony's eyes from under his messy bangs. “But I _saw_ him eat some of the fruit!”

Tony wondered briefly how good Tadashi was at sleight of hand. But either way, he'd eaten half a protein bar, so it was _something_. Not ideal, of course, but still something. He clapped both boys on their shoulders. “We've got plenty of food, so I expect you both to eat even if you're _not_ hungry.” He gave them both a stern look.

“Mister Stark is right,” Simmons said, appearing at his elbow with a pleasant smile. “You're both doing well, considering the circumstances, but it is imperative now that you take in adequate calories to help your bodies recover.” Simmons gave them her own stern look. “And sleep, too.” Her firm nod reminded Tony of a nanny or schoolmarm from some old movie. “Also very important.” She smiled brightly at Tadashi. “I work in biochem when I'm not here in medical, so I don't expect we'll be working together too closely, but all the same I look forward to being your coworker.”

“Wait...” Tadashi was boggling at Simmons as if she were Tony Stark all over again. “You're—are you _Jemma_ Simmons?”

Simmons' brow furrowed. “...yes?”

Tadashi shoved his hand through his short hair making it stand on end. “I've—I've read all your work; it's fascinating, brilliant. I just didn't expect to ever get to meet you.” He grinned at Tony then back at her. “I didn't know you were working for Mister Stark—is your partner Leo Fitz here as well?”

Simmons' face fell and her shoulders drooped. “No.” Her voice came out edged in unmistakable sadness. “I'm afraid he's not.”

“Oh, I'm sorry.” Tadashi put a hand briefly on her elbow. “I've got friends still out there, too.” He grimaced, eyes filled with sincerity. “I hope and pray that they're safe—that they'll find some place safe—at least for now.”

“If you have any way to contact them,” Tony offered, “tell them to come here. There might be other safe harbours in this storm, but this is the one I'm sure of.” The Gifted had one too, their 'Asteroid M' wherever it might be, but they were unlikely to accept baselines into their fold, and chances were the Hamada brothers were as baseline as Tony himself. Flashing a grin at his new guests, he added, “And this one's got me, so what more could you want?”

o0o

At first, Bucky just shuddered in Steve's grip, so Steve murmured, “It's all right, Bucky. I'm here; you're safe.” When Bucky stated twitching, Steve didn't loosen his grip, just pressed his face into Bucky's hair—it smelled like Steve's shampoo, and like Bucky; it smelled nice. “I've got you.”

Bucky groaned. “Tighter.”

So Steve tightened his grip. He didn't want to leave bruises, and on a normal baseline human, he probably would be leaving some already. But Bucky wasn't a normal baseline human. Like Steve, Bucky was tougher. “I've got you, Bucky,” he said again.

“Steve,” Bucky panted, and if Bucky had been a normal baseline human, Steve would have called what he was doing struggling at that point. But he knew how strong Bucky was, knew he wasn't _really_ trying to get free.

Steve honestly wasn't sure what Bucky _was_ doing, but he'd agreed to hold him still, to hold on even if Bucky fought him, so he kept his word. “What do you need, Bucky?”

“Tighter,” Bucky hissed.

Steve complied, but he said, “Much tighter, and I might crack your ribs.” He tried to laugh to lighten the mood, but it came out stiff and awkward.

“'M fine,” Bucky insisted, gritting his teeth. “I can take it.”

“I know you're strong,” Steve assured him. “You might even be stronger than me now—again.” He grinned, and his quiet laugh came easier. “But I'm not going to risk _hurt_ _ing_ you, Bucky.”

“ _Why?_ ” Bucky's voice was frustrated, exasperated, as he jerked his shoulders against Steve's grip—still not _really_ trying to shake Steve off.

“Because you're _mine_.” The words were out before Steve could edit them, so he made sure to clarify, “My boyfriend, and my best friend,” because that's what he meant. Bucky stilled, wasn't struggling at all anymore. And because this was important to Bucky, Steve added, “And I'm your CO, so that means I have to take care of you.” It wasn't exactly the standard definition of a 'CO', but it wasn't really too much of a stretch either. Bucky just _relaxed_ —he was still shaking a bit, but it was different, and he was laughing softly and maybe crying too. It sounded like relief. “Buck?” Steve tried. His body was loose and pliable in Steve's arms. “Tell me how you feel.”

“Better.” Bucky shuddered against him then swallowed. “Better.”

“Should I—do you want to move around again?” Maybe it had been enough, but Steve wasn't about to loosen his grip before Bucky gave him the go ahead.

“Yeah.” Bucky's voice was rough and a little shaky as he nodded his head. So Steve immediately loosened his grip, and Bucky turned to face him, movements loose and relaxed as he pulled Steve into a kiss and whispered, “Thank you,” against his lips. There were tears sticking Bucky's eyelashes into wet clumps, but he seemed happy.

Steve let himself feel relief then, spreading in his chest, an insistent bloom of hope. Because maybe he wasn't entirely terrible at being what Bucky needed. His own voice was rough when he said, “Glad I could help.”

o0o

Tony was elbows-deep in metal and grease when Rhodey walked into the lab. Looking up, Tony flashed him a grin. “Evening.”

Rhodey nodded, leaning against a lab table and crossing his ankles. “It's actually after midnight, but sure.”

Tony shrugged. It's not like it mattered to him what time it was. He twisted a bolt with a wrench. “Hey, don't you have kids you're supposed to be watching?” Tilting his head in Rhodey's direction, he quirked an eyebrow.

Rhodey shrugged, hands resting on the edge of the table at his back. “They're asleep.”

Tony laughed softly, rubbing at his forehead with the back of one wrist. “I'm sure there are reasons why you're probably not supposed to leave them anyway.” Not that Tony would really know—or that his own childhood was any gauge for what was expected. Or healthy.

Rhodey's smile was easy. “This Tower...it's not like the places most of us grew up; it's not a city or a colony or a regular station...it's more like a big shared _house_. Everyone here is kind of like an extended family. So...” He shrugged again. “I don't really feel bad about it. Besides, JARVIS will alert me immediately if there's anything wrong. And they kind of wander the station mostly unsupervised during the day anyway.” That was true, though Tony hadn't seen either one in the lab lately. Which was probably a good thing.

Pursing his lips thoughtfully, Tony tilted his head to one side. “I guess JARVIS is kind of supervising us all.”

“Which is only slightly creepy,” Rhodey interjected.

Tony shook his head, grinning. “J's a good guy.”

“Yeah, I know.” Rhodey grinned. “It's just a little 'He sees you when you're sleeping; he knows when you're awake.'”

Tony met his eyes. “JARVIS has let me down a lot less often than Santa Claus. And anyway, I was thinking...we've got all these _kids_ here now.”

“'All these kids'?” Rhodey frowned.

“Well there's your two,” Tony clarified, nodding to Rhodey, as he continued his work, “Carter's girl, the new kid, and of course Pepper and Happy's in a few months.”

“'New kid'?” Rhodey's brow twisted in puzzlement.

“Just arrived tonight,” Tony explained. As far as Tony knew, Rhodey never worked nights, so it made sense he wouldn't know yet. “Well, two kids, but the older one's eighteen, and apparently that's 'legally an adult'.” He made a vague, disbelieving sound. “Pretty sure _I_ shouldn't have been legally recognized as an adult at that age.”

Rhodey huffed, looking at the floor. “Not sure you should be even now.”

Rolling his eyes, Tony set down his wrench and picked up a rag to wipe his hands. He quirked an eyebrow at Rhodey. “That what this is about? You checking up on me?”

Rhodey shrugged, not quite meeting his eyes. “Obviously someone has to.”

“Hey.” Tony tossed the rag aside and leaned his hip against the lab table, folding his arms. “Bruce and Thor _both_ already came by earlier to make sure I wasn't comatose or whatever.”

“Speaking of Thor...” There was a hint of challenge in Rhodey's voice. “Did you apologize to him?”

Tony twisted his brows in incredulity. “Why would I?” Thor hadn't been offended by the flirting or the cuddling or anything. Thor had been _fine_.

“Because...” Rhodey sighed. “You talked him into giving you a potentially very dangerous substance. He wouldn't want you to be hurt, especially not by _him_.”

“I'm fine, though.” Turning back to his project, Tony picked up his wrench again. “So this new kid—the older one—he's a robotics student. I figure he'll fit in well.”

“Don't think I don't see what you're doing, Tony.” Rhodey's voice was laced with a tired sort of warning.

Tony resisted rolling his eyes; of course Rhodey saw Tony's attempt to change the subject, but it was about to _work_. “And apparently he sorta knows Peter,” he pressed on. “A friend of a friend.”

“Peter!” Rhodey moved to Tony's side, radiating hope and concern. “Is he okay?”

Tony adjusted a bolt carefully. “That's exactly what I asked.”

“And?” Rhodey gripped the edge of the lab table with one hand.

Tony grimaced. “He thinks so.” He let out a breath, shoulders sagging slightly. “Peter's been telling his friends that we're safe, a safe place. Telling them to come here.”

Rhodey's grin was a little hesitant as hope flashed in his eyes. “That's good, right?”

“Yeah.” Turning towards Rhodey, Tony offered him a soft smile. “I think that's very good.” If only Peter could take his own advice. Then, that'd be _great_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on characters and canon:  
> Tadashi Hamada, Hiro Hamada, and Wasabi are from 'Big Hero 6'. (It's cool, it's Marvel, and if you haven't seen it yet, you really should—but it's absolutely not required to enjoy or understand this fic.)  
> Peter Parker is based primarily on his film portrayals by Tobey Maguire and Andrew Garfield but takes significant inspiration from his appearance in 'Spectacular Spider-Man'. Like Tadashi, he's eighteen at this point in my story.


End file.
